Back to the Beginning
by starbrightnights
Summary: 'Her relationship with her best friend is strained, the awkward moments between them never ceasing, and despite how her heart breaks whenever she catches a glimpse of the brokenness in his eyes, she can't bring herself to be truly immersed in his presence. Fitz has done nothing wrong, but it's better this way.'
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: This note contains minor spoilers for season two. Probably nothing that you don't already know, but if you're worried, skip this bit and go straight to the start of the story. This is based on a few quotes I read recently. I can't remember them word for word, but the first was Elizabeth Henstridge saying that the relationship between Fitz and Simmons would be strained, because Simmons feels guilty about taking the oxygen, and the second is from the AOS: Declassified book, where one of the casting directors said that Fitz and Simmons love each other, but that they'd never admit to it (clearly, Fitz now has, but the quote was from way before then. I also took it to mean romantic love, because people don't usually have a problem with saying that they platonically love their best friend). The third is from Iain De Caestecker saying that Fitz is fine, before cutting himself off after realising that he shouldn't have said anything!**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. and none of these characters belong to me.**

* * *

Jemma Simmons is not the same person that she used to be. She's no longer eternally optimistic, following the rules doesn't always makes her feel as nice as it once did (and breaking them is a little easier), and she doesn't trust the way she used to - in the months following S.H.I.E.L.D's downfall, Coulson has recruited a small number of people, including a veteran agent who's a bit too attached to her knife, and a mercenary from England, and she knows that if the director trusts them, then she should, too, but she can't help but be wary of them.

She's also holding onto guilt instead of dealing with it.

Her relationship with her best friend is strained, the awkward moments between them never ceasing, and despite how her heart breaks whenever she catches a glimpse of the brokenness in his eyes, she can't bring herself to be truly immersed in his presence. Fitz has done nothing wrong, but it's better this way. She thinks, perhaps, that if she keeps her distance, it will hurt less for the both of them if anything life-threatening, or worse, happens again, that it'll be easier to deal with if they're used to standing on their own two feet instead of constantly being in each other's pockets; it wouldn't be as much of a shock to the system if they're already used to it, she assures herself. But, what she doesn't let herself think about, is how bound they've already been for years, their roots already ancient and buried deep beneath the ground, twisted together, growing into each other, impossible to separate without leaving them both scarred for life. She's not thinking about it, and, because of that, because of her blindness to what's already true, the reality locked away in the deepest, darkest depths of her mind, she doesn't realise that what she's actually doing is making things much, much worse.

To her immense relief, Fitz has recovered extremely well. He needs to rest more often, he slurs his speech a little when he's tired, and sometimes he has to take a little more time to think, but he's fine, and those things will correct themselves in time. At least, she's convinced herself that he's fine. The actuality is far different, and she's frighteningly oblivious to it. Fitz is sad and lonely and hurting, thinks that the reason Jemma is behaving so oddly is because of _him_, because he told her, more or less, that he's in love with her. He thinks he's ruined them, and it's killing him. However, as far as Jemma is concerned, she's doing him a favour.

She's not.

She's up and down during the day, chipper one minute, almost lapsing into a normal, FitzSimmons routine, and then she'll remember and suddenly distance herself. She took oxygen from him, he was in a coma, close to death for a while, because of _her_. She's doing what is best for him - she doesn't realise that for Fitz, it's the worst kind of torture, one that frequently leaves him sobbing into his pillow at night, his chest tight with pain, and he's beginning to lapse into thinking that he hates her, despite still loving her, because it seems like she gives him hope only to suddenly snatch it away again, and he never thought she was capable of cruelty. He's beginning to wonder, in his grief-stricken mind, if he ever really knew her at all. But Jemma doesn't know this, doesn't know how he's feeling or what he's thinking, and she cries, too, because she thinks she's been successful in making him realise that he doesn't need her anymore, and she misses him more than anything. But she's resolute - it was her fault.

She'd let him down.

She thought that they'd gotten into a good routine, so when it happens, just shy of three months since Fitz had come back to work, it's completely unexpected.

They've been civil to each other, haven't they? That's been the whole point, to be civil and professional and continue to collaborate in the name of science. There would just be no more movie nights in their bunks, no more finishing each other's sentences, none of the co-dependency that had existed between them in the past. No making each other cups of tea first thing in the morning, no pranks, no more invading each other's personal space.

Something's gone wrong, and she doesn't understand.

Fitz has requested his own lab, and Coulson has granted it. It hurts to the point where she genuinely thinks that someone has punched her in the stomach. But she doesn't say anything; she just gives him a wan smile, and tells herself that it's probably for the best. They can still communicate with each other on projects, it's not like he's leaving the base. _Yes_, she finally thinks - _this is us standing on our own two feet. It's worked._ Still, she's confused by the odd looks Trip keeps throwing her way as he helps Fitz to move his equipment.

"Well, then, Fitz, I guess this is it," she says, as he picks up the last of his boxes. She smiles again, a little more brightly, this time, hoping to show him how proud she is that they've reach this turning point of not needing to constantly rely on each other.

The look he gives her in return is one of utter contempt. "You don't need to be such a bitch about it."

He moves past her, not saying another word, and she stares at his back in slack-jawed shock, that sneaky ninja shoving a fist into her stomach again and disappearing before she even gets a chance to glimpse them.

xxxx

He doesn't call her 'Jemma' anymore. He barely calls her 'Simmons'. He called her 'Agent Simmons' once, his face impassive and his voice cool, and if, in that moment, she'd been asked what in the world had the mostly deadly sting, she'd have said him.

He never says any part of her name, unless he really has to, preferring to just launch into stoically asking her for whatever he needs.

At night, she sits on the edge of her bunk, and thinks. A picture book of moving images flickers through her mind, playing scenes from all of her favourite romantic films, all of them in chronological order. She doesn't understand why, but they're there, every night, and she ends up with tear-stained cheeks and a fistful of tissues pressed to her nose.

They make her think of Fitz, for some bizarre reason, and then she gets even more upset. Tonight, it's worse than ever. This wasn't what she'd wanted. She hadn't wanted to make him hate her, yet somehow she has, and she doesn't know how to fix it.

He's grown very close to Skye and Trip. She has, too - well, with Skye, anyway. Trip, when he's around, isn't as easy-going with her as he once was. He's pleasant, but that's about it. She doesn't remember doing anything to upset him, but she clearly has. Jemma's not used to not knowing things, and it makes her uncomfortable.

The next day, when she broaches Skye about the subject, the younger agent just looks at her sympathetically and shakes her head.

"How are you even surprised that he's behaving the way he is?"

"I..." What?

Fitz chooses that moment to enter the kitchen they're stood in, and he's clearly heard what they've been saying.

"Skye, don't waste your breath," he says, reaching into the fridge for a bottle of water. "I was clearly just a means to an end. Is that not right, _Agent Simmons_?"

His voice is ice, and it crawls dreadfully up her back. She can feel a familiar sting in her eyes. She's about to respond, when he gives her a smile that's so unpleasant that she loses the ability to speak. He leaves before she can get it back.

Skye squeezes her arm. "Simmons, you're my friend, and I care about you, but you can't keep doing this to him; you need to talk to him."

Jemma stares at her, confused. And clearly that was the wrong thing to do, because Skye sighs and looks away from her for a moment.

"Look, I know it would have been a shock, but all he did was tell you how he felt-"

"-What?"

"Yeah, he told me. You can't... Clearly, it was a lot to take in, but you can't throw away years of friendship over it. What you have is so deep, you mean so much to each other..."

She's speechless again - that's happening a lot, lately - and she doesn't even hear what Skye says after that. She barely even registers when she squeezes her arm again and then disappears from the room.

On autopilot, Jemma steps out of the kitchen and into the hall. Before she knows it, her route has taken her past the gym, and she pauses to look through the door. Fitz is in there, angrily battering the punchbag. He's trained with Trip a few times, learnt how to throw his punches properly, how to disarm someone. She's seen them, sparring with each other, and she remembers the pride she'd felt, and the strange warmth that had flooded through her as she'd watched his arms flex, the muscles a little more defined than they'd once been.

She steps away, suddenly giddy, and then the next thing she's knows is she's left the compound and is walking through the trees. This place isn't covered in snow like Providence was, and it's also much warmer. The sun is shining and the air is fresh, but it's not helping her to feel any better. She swallows down huge gulps of air in an attempt to smother the vibrations that are spreading out from her in waves.

For someone with two PhDs and a genius level IQ, she's been ridiculously stupid. They're both miserable, he's full of anger and seething betrayal, and it's all her fault.

She wasn't upset with him for what he'd said, and she'd stupidly presumed that he knew that, because why would she be? But now it all made sense. He doesn't know that she blames herself, that she feels guilty over the oxygen, of taking that breath for herself. It makes no logical sense, of course, because he'd pushed the canister into her hands and then pressed the button before she could do a damn thing. She hadn't been expecting it, not just like _that_. If she'd known she'd only had seconds, if she'd known what that smile had meant, she would have spent less time staring at him in confusion and shoved it back at him. But even so, he could have died, he almost _did_ die, and she's not sure if that guilt will ever go away, because she's pretty sure that she should have somehow just known what he was about to do before he did it - they're _FitzSimmons_, for Christ's sake.

_Were_ FitzSimmons.

All this time she's been making him feel awful about something she wasn't even upset about. No wonder he was so mad at her, no wonder he was behaving so unlike himself, especially when they had to be near each other. She thought about it from his point of view, how he'd seen her treating him, and the more she did, the more her heart sank into her stomach like a lead weight. All he'd seen was his best friend pushing him away, building him up when she forgot herself and then letting him down, over and over again, treating him as if all that history between them hadn't existed, speaking to him always as a colleague and never as a friend, keeping off-duty contact to a minimum, even when they were all together as a group, and _smiling_ when... No wonder he'd lashed out at her when he'd left their lab for one of his own.

Jemma realises that since she'd decided to go down this path, she hadn't once asked him how he was. She'd given him a physical, about a month before he'd moved labs, but she'd kept it professional, telling him that the readouts said he was doing well. He'd never mentioned that he wasn't, and she hadn't asked. A doctor should ask their patients how they're feeling, yet she couldn't even ask the man who knew her inside out, who'd previously been able to read her better than a well-loved book, if he was okay.

She can't deal with it, so she just keeps on walking.

She has no idea of the panic she's caused until hours later.

"Simmons!"

Jemma jumps so hard that the muscles at the top her back wrench in protest. She stumbles as she gets up a little too fast from her perch on an old, fallen tree, and turns round to find Fitz staring at her with a face like thunder, although there's something else there, too, something familiar... Concern? But it's gone in a flash, and she wonders if maybe it was just her imagination.

"Fitz-"

"-You're okay, then?"

She frowns at him a little as she contemplates his question. "I'm fine."

He huffs out a laugh, but it's not pleasant, not in the slightest.

"Fitz..." Jemma takes a deep breath, "I'm-"

He doesn't give her a chance. "-You know, it's bad enough that you've been treating _me_ like... But you don't just wander off base for hours without explanation, with no regard to how it affects everyone else - the whole team is out looking for you."

Hours? But... She'd only gone for a short walk. Although, now she thinks about it, it has gotten slightly darker, and her feet are aching a little more than they should be. "I'm sorry, I didn't realise... _Fitz_. I never meant to make you think... I mean, why you think it was isn't the actual reason..." She shakes her head. She's not making any sense.

"Yeah, well, it's not me you should be apologising to. Let's go." He turns round and starts to walk away, but she can't let him, not now that she knows. She has to fix this.

"Wait, stop!"

He spins back round, stomps several, angry paces towards her, and then stops a few feet away. His eyes are burning with rage, and she blinks back tears at the thought that it's all because of her.

"You know, at first, I thought telling you how I felt was the biggest mistake I'd ever made, but what it's really done, is made me see you for who you really are. Well, I'm _sorry_ if the thought of me loving you disgusts you so much. But you don't have to worry about that, now, because those feelings are long gone. I can't believe I _ever_ did."

No.

"Leo-"

"-Don't you _dare_," he snarls, at the mention of his first name, and he almost sounds like a different person. Jemma had known it was a long-shot, but she'd needed to try and calm him, somehow, needed to get him to listen to her. It's like he's been body-snatched - he still looks like Fitz, walks like Fitz, but when he speaks, he's completely alien to her. She can't even fathom just how hurt he is.

Fitz's head suddenly whips to the side, and Jemma follows suit, coming face-to-face with May, who, despite her usual stoic demeanour, looks less than impressed.

When she turns back to him, he's gone.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: So... More angst, anyone?**

**Big thank you to those who left reviews :)**

**And yes, poor Simmons, indeed, but also, poor Fitz, because he's justifiably upset and angry. Everything's just so messed up. Life can be cruel (or, should that be 'fanfiction writers can be cruel'? :p).**

* * *

Coulson's Playground office isn't as cosy as his one on the Bus had been. Most of his collectibles, his knick-knacks, everything that had been a reflection of his personality and his passions, had been destroyed or damaged when Hydra had stolen their plane and rampaged through it. His office here is rather bare, and a bit of an organised mess. He has files on his desk and in plies on the floor, where they're still being worked through before being put into cabinets, and there's a large floor lamp, an over-stuffed armchair in the bottom right corner of the room, a computer, and a wall monitor. There are no vintage spy gadgets, no framed trading cards, no model of the Bus.

Jemma sits down in one of the chairs pulled out on her side of the desk, and wilts under Coulson's stern gaze. "I'm so sorry, sir-"

"-I thought I told you once before - don't _ever_ pull a stunt like that again."

Well, she hasn't jumped out of a plane, this time, but she can see his point, so she keeps quiet, because it wouldn't do to question him, especially when he's mad at her, and rightly so - she'd taken them all from their positions, away from all the important work they were engaged in, all because she'd run off in a fit of self-pity without even thinking about it. She's more than a little disappointed in herself.

"You know, despite the fact that we're hidden away here, we can't take anything for granted. Hydra is out there, and the first thing we thought was that they'd found us, that you'd been captured. We were worried sick - what the hell were you thinking?"

"I..." Jemma shakes her head and looks down at her hands in her lap, pulling the cuffs of her jumper down over them as she fidgets. "I wasn't. I was upset, and... I know that's not an excuse. It was stupid of me, selfish. It won't happen again, I promise."

Coulson stares down at her, his face now a little softer, and as if she senses this, she glances up at him.

"This isn't like you, Jemma."

"I know."

"I know with what's happened, that we've all gone through some degree of change, but we have to stick together, because at the moment, we're all we have, all we can trust. Whatever you're feeling about the world around you, it's justified, but who you are, deep down, will always be there, and that's the Jemma Simmons we need, because you're just as important a part of this team as anyone else."

She nods, and braves a small smile up at him.

He doesn't smile back, but his face is still gentler than it had been. For a moment, anyway, and then it hardens again. "And on that note..." He walks over to the door, and pulls it open. Jemma thinks that's her cue to leave, but before she can stand, he calls for Fitz. She freezes. She'd known he'd called them both in, but she'd assumed he'd wanted to speak to them separately. Maybe he does. She finally pushes herself up, but ends up hovering awkwardly when Fitz walks in, his eyes determinedly set away from her.

"Stay seated, please, Simmons," Coulson says. "I need to speak to you both together. Fitz." He gestures to the other chair, and Fitz sits down, his face unreadable, features set to blank.

Jemma looks up at Coulson questioningly. He stands there with his arms folded across his chest.

"Carrying on from what I was just saying about being the person we need, I don't know what the hell has happened between you two, but you'd better fix it, fast. You two were best friends, and you're two of the best SHIELD scientists I've ever known, and you're more than just my employees - after everything, we're more than just a team. That's why I waited, because I thought you two would be able to sort this out on your own - it's why I let you have your own lab, Fitz, because I honestly didn't think it would last - but it's clear that you can't, so know this - if this is going to compromise our-"

"-It won't!" Jemma jumps in, before she can stop herself. She lowers her voice at the unimpressed look on Coulson's face, and glances away sheepishly. "I mean, it won't, sir."

He gives her a curt nod. "See to it that it doesn't. And if either of you need to speak to me privately about anything, at any time, if you have any grievances, just come and knock, and I'll do my best to help. I've had no problems with your work here, from either of you - it's still above and beyond. But you work best as a pair. You were hired as FitzSimmons for a reason, and that reason still stands."

There's an awkward silence, and Fitz, who hasn't said anything at all, has barely reacted, suddenly finds the surface of the director's desk very interesting. When neither of them move, Coulson sits down and flips open a file.

"You're dismissed," he says, not looking at them.

Fitz is up and out the door before she can move. She's not going to let him get away, though, so she hurries after him, catching him at the end of the hall. "Fitz, please, wait."

He ignores her and carries on round the corner, going in the direction that will take him to his lab.

"_Please_." She reaches out to touch his arm, and he stills immediately. He doesn't shake her off, so that's a good start, but she removes her hand out of courtesy, anyway.

"You don't have to pretend to be nice to me just because of what Coulson said."

He still won't look at her, so she moves in front of him. She's not going to let him go, not now, no matter how stubborn he continues to be. She'll follow him until he snaps. "I'm not pretending. Please, can we just talk?" Her voice breaks unexpectedly on the last word, and she inwardly curses herself, because she'd been trying to remain strong, and now her eyes are watering, but it's clearly stirred something in him, because he finally looks at her, and, despite his hard demeanour, his face relaxes just a little, just enough so that she notices, and she tries to tamp down the premature soaring of her heart, because that hasn't stopped the rest of him from radiating mistrust and frighteningly controlled rage.

"Fine."

Now there are butterflies partying in her stomach. "Your place or mine?" she asks, trying to sound jovial. It falls flat, and it was probably - no, _definitely_ \- the wrong thing to say, considering. He just stares at her impassively. "Right, sorry." Jemma takes a deep, steadying breath. "Your lab's closer, if that's suitable?"

Fitz walks away from her, and she takes that as a 'yes' and trails behind him until they reach the small, make-shift lab that's tucked away in a corner of the base that's primarily used for storage. It's probably as far away from what was once 'their' lab as he can get.

His lab is pristine apart from an empty coffee cup and a half-eaten bag of pretzels on his desk, next to his computer. It's as she expected it to be. There's a monitor on the wall which is showing a progress bar of sixty-seven percent, and despite wanting to ask him what he's working on, she knows she should probably keep to what she's there for, because she doesn't know how much time he'll give her.

He wordlessly gestures to a chair tucked underneath one of the lab tables, but she shakes her head. She's too nervous to sit down. Fitz leans against his desk, his ankles crossed and his hands pressed against the edge.

To Jemma's surprise, he speaks first, and she doesn't stop him. She's just happy he's agreed to this, so she lets him do it on his terms.

"I never expected anything, you know," he begins, his voice thick with something she has difficulty identifying as one emotion - it's a mixture of anger, hurt, disappointment, and a deep, profound sadness. He's staring at the ground. "I didn't wake up and think 'Oh, I'm alive. Well, now she'll have to love me back because I tried to sacrifice myself for her and it's the least she can do'. I only told you so that you would take the canister - I didn't for one second think that you felt the same way - that's something I came to terms with a long time ago. I just wanted you to know just how important to me you were, that you'd been loved, that that was why I was willing to die for you, why it was so important that you survived, especially as I was a lame duck. There was no point in both of us dying - if there was one thing I wasn't going to do, it was let you end your life for nothing."

Jemma sniffs and swipes a hand across her cheeks. "I never... I don't hate you. Please, look at me." She waits for a moment before continuing, to see if he does, and when his eyes finally lift to hers, she almost sobs. "I've _never_ hated you. It had nothing to do with what you said, I promise you. I just... I..." _Say it_. "I took that oxygen from you, and I can't stop myself from feeling guilty over it. I _know_ why that doesn't make sense, but I just can't stop. You almost died, and I couldn't go through that again. I thought it would be best if we distanced ourselves from each other, learned to cope on our own rather than as a unit. I thought that if we got used to that, if the worst happened in the future, we'd be far better equipped to deal with it. So, I pushed you away, caught myself when I slipped, and I was so wrapped up in it, that it didn't even occur to me that what I was actually doing was hurting you, and-"

"-How?" Fitz stares at her incredulously. "How on _Earth_ could you not know that it was hurting me? Jesus Christ - you didn't even talk to me about it. You didn't explain your fears to me, you just made a decision on your own, and not once did you think about how I'd take it? Wouldn't it mean that I wasn't much of a friend in the first place if I wasn't affected by it-"

"-I don't know!" she cries, cutting him off. "I mean, no, I didn't think that, that you weren't much of a friend - that's... That's ridiculous, after everything we've been through. I just thought you'd realised what I was doing, and that it was for the best, and I _know_ how that sounds, now, that I've been _monumentally_ stupid, but we're FitzSimmons, and I just thought you'd-"

"-We _were_ FitzSimmons."

Jemma feels a knife twist sickeningly into her guts.

"And are you _serious_? You thought I'd just pick up on it, that I'd accept something like that?!"

He's shouting now, and she turns her head away from him, tears streaming down her face, hot and salty and raw.

"What the hell is wrong with you?!" Fitz pushes away from his desk and buries his hands in his hair as he walks to the other side of the room, away from her. "You had no right to make that decision without me," he snaps, spinning round to face her, his face red and etched with complete devastation. "You had no right to keep things from me and make me feel like I'd made you hate me. Do you have any idea...? You were my whole world, Jemma. I _made_ you take that oxygen - how could you think what happened was your fault? Did I ever, at any point, give any indication that I was upset with you, that I blamed you for me almost dying?"

Jemma shakes her head, unable to speak, completely overwhelmed by what's happening.

"I... I felt so alone. I felt like I'd wronged you, like I'd mortally embarrassed you. I felt like such a _fool_. Because, god forbid that anyone could actually love Leo Fitz, let alone Jemma Simmons. And even though I now know that wasn't the reason, you never gave me any indication at the time, and knowing that now doesn't make it hurt any less." Fitz lets his eyes wander to a spot on the opposite wall, before letting them rest back on her after he takes a deep breath. "I know that sounds contradictory, saying you made that decision without me, but we had time on our side, this time."

"I wasn't..." Jemma swallows heavily. "I wasn't going to say that it was. You're right, we did have time, but I was scared! I was _terrified_, and it stopped me from thinking clearly, and I know that's not an excuse, but it's the truth." She walks towards him as she speaks, desperate to be closer to him, wanting nothing more than to take him in her arms and comfort him and promise him the world, wanting nothing more than for him to hold her _back_, to be soothed by the warmth of him_. _But when he wraps his arms about himself and takes a small step backwards, she pauses, and it takes everything she has not to just break down completely, all her strength and her courage, and she takes a steadying breath and plants her feet firmly, feeling like a sapling trying to cling on in a hurricane.

"It reached a point where I wish I _had_ died. Because to get up every day, to be so near you and yet so far away, to have you treat me like the last seven years didn't exist, that I meant _nothing_-" Fitz's voice cracks, painfully, and he presses the heel of his hand against his mouth. "It was the worst form of punishment," he finally continues. "I'd rather have been slowly tortured to death than have you push me away."

It kills her to hear him say that. "I wasn't... I didn't..."

"I know. I know that, now. But it doesn't make it right!"

He's crying, and she can't stand it.

"I love you!" she blurts out, and the lead weight that's been pressed into her chest for so long that she didn't even know it was there, lifts with those three words, and suddenly, everything becomes clear as crystal. "I... I _love_ you. I didn't say it back, before, because I didn't know how I felt, and I was in shock, and everything was... But, now I know. I've loved you from the very beginning - it's been there for so long that I didn't even think that that was what it was. I thought that I was supposed to feel more, and when I didn't, it scared me. Fitz... The reason I didn't feel more, was because I already loved - _love_ \- you more than anything in the universe. You're my soulmate, and I know neither of us believe in that sort of thing, but you _are_. I couldn't love you more, because my heart is already, permanently yours, and..." She has to stop to breathe, and she wipes her eyes on her sleeve. She doesn't care what she looks like. "I don't expect you to feel the same, not now, and maybe I don't deserve it, but, do you think... And I know it will take time... But could we... The way we were? Because I don't want that at all, to not be close to you - I can't believe it ever entered my head. I _miss_ you. I don't want to live my life without you right beside me. I'm so sorry, Fitz."

Fitz sniffs as he gasps down air almost painfully, and Jemma watches as tears drip from his face and onto the floor. When he looks at her this time, he _really_ looks at her. "... I don't know..." He looks truly, heart-breakingly sorry as he says it.

She sobs brokenly at his words, devastated, hiccupping as she tries get her lungs to work properly, and she turns away from him for a second in order to try and gather herself. When she turns back, mostly unsuccessful, she nods. She can see the jagged hole she's left in his chest from where she's unintentionally ripped his heart out. But, unintentional or not, she'd done it all the same. He's raw, completely bare before her, his trust and his soul pouring out of that gaping wound, and she doesn't know if she'll ever be able to scoop all of it up and push it back inside. Would she miss bits, no matter how thorough she was? If Fitz does ever decide to resume their friendship, will he forever more have difficulty trusting her?

Will they ever be the same again?

"I understand." Jemma brings a hand up to her face, presses it over her mouth, and diverts her gaze from him as her shoulders shake. She squeezes her eyes shut, tears continuing to leak from them.

"I'm..."

Her eyes snap back open at the sound of his voice.

He shakes his head. "I'm _so_ mad at you," he almost whispers, the fight flooding out of him as the plug is pulled, until he's completely drained. "I do realise that you didn't mean to... But still, it happened. I need... I need time to think. I promise you that I'll come and talk to you when I've got my head around everything, but I can't guarantee how long that will take-"

"-It's fine, take as long as you need," she interrupts, desperate for him to know that she'll give him all the time in the world, that she'll just have to deal with it until he's ready, that she's just so happy that he's even willing to think about it.

He nods. Sniffs. "I'm sorry I spoke to you the way I did."

"Really, there's no need-"

"-I'm _sorry_," he says, pointedly.

She doesn't dare say anything else.

He studies her for a moment, with something almost familiar in his eyes, and her heart can't help but leap a little. "Go and wash your face," he says, gently, "then get some sleep. I'll... I'll see you around."

Jemma gives him a small, heartfelt smile, and takes her leave. No matter how much she wants to stay, she knows that she can't. He needs time, and she'll wait forever if she has to.

It's only when she's in her room and lying on her bed, her arms wrapped around her pillow, clinging to it the same way a young child clings to a comforter, that she realises he called her 'Jemma'.


	3. Chapter 3

Jemma decides that she's not going to mope around while she waits. She's satisfied that Fitz will come to her when he's ready, so she immerses herself in her work, makes sure she gets enough sleep, and even has girls' nights with Skye.

The first of those nights fell the day after her confrontation with Fitz.

"So," Skye begins, pouring out two glasses of rosé. They're sitting opposite each other at the breakfast bar in the kitchen, the lights low and a single, fat candle that Skye had pinched from storage sat between them. "To help you relax," she had told her. Jemma stares at the flickering flame, watching its alluring dance, lost in thought, and only realises that Skye is talking to her when a glass of wine is thrust in front of her.

"What?"

Skye rolls her eyes, and takes a sip of her drink before speaking. "Look, this should probably be coming from him - in fact, it should _definitely_ be coming from him - but you need this, so I'm going to tell you. Just, keep it to yourself, okay?"

"Skye, it's fine, honestly. I'm happy to wait, I'm happy getting on with things until such a time as-"

"-Stop." Skye holds a hand out in front of her, and Jemma immediately shuts up. "If you're so 'happy', then why haven't you told your face?"

Jemma's mouth drops open in surprise. "Skye!"

Skye waves her hand. "Sorry. But let me tell you this, please, because I think it will help give you a bit of hope. Fitz - and he was surprisingly open with me once he got going-"

"-Did you give him much of a choice?" Jemma knows that Skye has a habit of getting people to open up, even people as stubborn as Fitz.

"Hey!" Skye pouts at her before continuing. "Anyway, he told me that he's always felt something for you, that he'd always been aware of his attraction to you, but because you were his best friend, he paid it no mind. So he tucked it away. It was only when you jumped from the Bus that it showed itself again and identified itself as love. He said it felt like he'd been running along, everything normal, and then all of a sudden a brick wall had sprung up from nowhere and he'd smacked right into it. He said two things happened that day: one, he realised he was in love with you, and two, that it was deeper than that, that he literally didn't know how to survive without you. Now, I don't know about you, but to me, that doesn't sound like someone who's going to fall out of love easily; you can be mad at someone, hate someone, even, and still love them - not that he hates you," Skye reassures, quickly, at the look of horror on Jemma's face. "Of course he doesn't hate you."

Jemma stares down at her shoes, her loose hair falling around her face, a curtain of protection, except she knows that now isn't the time to hide away. After a moment, she glances back up at Skye with questioning eyes, sending out a plea for her friend to tell her that it's not just want she wants to hear, but that it's actually true. "He still loves me?"

"Are you kidding? He's crazy in love with you. Beyoncé-level crazy-in-love. No, more than that... You're... You're the Ginger Rogers to his Fred Astaire, the Scully to his Mulder, the..." Skye smiles, and points a finger at her. "He's the Fitz to your Simmons, and he always will be."

Jemma shakes her head sadly at her friend's enthusiasm. She wants to believe that more than anything, but... "I don't know, Skye. We've always bickered, we've had disagreements, but we've never fallen out before, not ever. And this isn't just falling out with someone, it's... It's a catastrophic nightmare of betrayal and hurt and suffering and-"

"-Simmons, you sound like you're describing one of those angsty, made-for-TV dramas on Lifetime. I'm gonna need popcorn and tissues if you keep it up. Listen," Skye leans across the counter and puts her hands over Jemma's, squeezing them comfortingly.

Jemma tries not to think about how much she wishes they belonged to someone else, someone with curly hair and bright, inquisitive eyes and a smile that could light up even the dullest of days, the darkest of nights.

"No, you didn't think," Skye continues. "Yes, you did a number on him. And yes, he's _seriously_ pissed off with you, and he might be for a while, but give him time, let him heal a bit, and then he'll come to you, I _know_ he will. Stop beating yourself up - he'll forgive you."

Jemma's about to say that she really hopes so, more than anything, when Trip walks in. He pauses when he sees the two women sat at the counter with a bottle of wine and a candle between them.

"_Ladies_," he says, raising an amused eyebrow. "Am I interrupting something?"

Skye flaps a hand at him. "Only if you stay for longer than necessary," she says, smiling sweetly. "And by that, I mean grab your beer and scoot."

Trip salutes her. "Yes, ma'am." He pulls four bottles from the fridge and holds them by their necks in one hand. "Fitz and I are having a 'man's' night." He puts a faux, gruff-emphasis on the word 'man's'.

Jemma's heart quickens at the mention of Fitz's name, but she tries to retain an air of nonchalance in an attempt to try and cover up any indication that it's affected her.

"Aw, are you painting each other's nails and breaking out the face masks? Are you watching Pretty Woman?" Skye teases, her tongue between her teeth.

"Hey, it takes effort to look this good," he smirks, and Skye rolls her eyes at him. Then he looks at Jemma and his face softens. "You know, I'm sure it would be okay if you both wanted to come into the common room - we're just watching a movie."

"No, it's all right," she replies, giving him a small but appreciative smile. "I said I'd give him time, so if I don't have to be in the same room as him, I won't be."

"Isn't avoiding him the reason this all happened in the first place?" Skye points out, not unkindly.

"This is different. He'll know why, this time."

Trip nods in understanding, and pauses next to Jemma on his way out, squeezing her shoulder comfortingly with his free hand, before continuing on his way.

Jemma lets out the breath she didn't know she'd been holding. "I thought _he_ hated me, too." She gulps down a mouthful of wine, as if to steady her nerves.

"Trip? No. I mean, he and Fitz have become pretty good friends, and, well, we thought the same as he did."

"But you didn't-"

"-I've known you longer. Not that much longer, granted, but I've spent enough time with you to know that there was something else going on, that it didn't add up. I did try and tell him, but..."

"It's all right. And I'm glad Fitz has bonded so well with him, especially after he didn't start out liking him so much, and especially after..." Jemma trails off, not wanting to mention Ward's name out loud. Fitz had looked up to him like the older brother he'd never had, and Skye...

"It's fine," Skye dismisses lightly, swirling the wine in her glass. "Anyway, enough boy talk." She tops up their drinks, then lifts hers up. "A toast - to friendship and love and..." she bites the inside of her cheek as she thinks, "... Moving on."

They clink their glasses together.

xxxx

It's nearly two weeks before he comes to her. Up until then they'd passed by each other, had still had to collaborate on missions and tests and when Fitz needed her biochem for their weapons and gadgets, but it had been strictly professional. Still, he'd managed the odd, small smile, had spoken to her without the previous chill in his voice, and she'd been grateful for it, despite how it was tearing her up inside to not have him truly beside her.

"Hey."

Jemma just stares at him at first. She doesn't mean to, but she knows, from the tone of his voice, that this visit isn't for work purposes. Then she catches herself and smiles softly, praying that she doesn't look too hopeful - the last thing she wants to do is scare him off. "Hello," she breathes, surreptitiously reaching out to clutch onto the edge of the lab table. She slips her protective glasses off with her other hand and places them down.

Fitz's lips twitch, barely, like he wants to return her smile, but he just can't quite get there, probably because he looks so unsure with what he's about to say. However, his eyes are soft as he holds her gaze. "I, um... I'd like to come back to our... Your... _This_ lab, if that's all right with you?" He asks the question cautiously, and she can tell that he's not one-hundred percent sure about it, but he's asking anyway - he's making the effort for her, clearly before he's ready, and she wishes she could tell him just how much she appreciates it without the threat of her gushing verbal diarrhoea at him.

Jemma digs her nails into her palms to stop the beam that's threatening to break out on her face. She mustn't get ahead of herself - this doesn't mean he's agreeing to go back to how they were, it just means that they will be sharing a workspace again. She swallows, trying to regain her self-control. "Yes," she nods. "Yes... I'd like that."

Fitz nods back at her. "Good. I'll pack up my things and start getting everything moved across this afternoon."

Trip isn't about today, he's been sent off on a solo mission, so May and Skye lend a hand, and Jemma has to spend a good portion of her time ignoring their knowing looks and secret smiles (more on Skye's part, to be fair), because she absolutely cannot get in over her head.

The heavier equipment gets wheeled in on trolleys, and Jemma watches as Fitz checks everything and runs through the list he's holding, even though he couldn't possibly have lost anything between his lab and this one, although she suspects it's to keep him busy and focused, because she's sure he's as nervous as she is about him coming back, even if it's not quite in the same way. He's in and out for the next couple of hours, on his own once May and Skye are needed by Coulson elsewhere, and Jemma busies herself with running her tests and cross-checking her data, the same as she'd been doing before he'd come to her earlier that day. When she can see he's nearly done, she leaves the lab, and returns ten minutes later with two cups of freshly brewed tea. It goes against her protocols, but it won't hurt to have tea in here just once. Fitz looks exhausted from going back and forth, and it's a nice thing to do.

He's sitting at his old desk, setting up his computer, and she places his mug in front of him without a word, moving over to her own station to sit and sip at the fresh, hot brew and letting it comfort and calm her. She chances a glance at Fitz as she does, and she catches the look of confusion on his face before he turns to her and says, "Thank you." He sounds as unsure as he looks, but he picks it up and swallows a mouthful, before giving her a tentative quirk of his lips behind the rim of his mug. She flashes a small smile back, then turns away before he can see the grin that's insisting on tugging her mouth up.

xxxx

A week later, and things have been... strange. Not 'bad' strange, just 'odd' strange. Fitz is trying, but he's still distant at times, still fairly quiet, and Jemma has also found it difficult to stick to the rules she'd set for herself. Bringing him tea in the lab has become a daily thing, and he always seems to have some sort of internal struggle every time she hands it to him. He always says thank you, but she wonders if maybe she's overdoing it. She'd told herself she would mostly leave him be, would not purposefully draw him into a conversation about anything that wasn't to do with what they were working on unless he initiated it. It hasn't quite worked out that way. She knows she's been treating him a bit like a delicate flower, making sure he's okay, trying to crack stupid jokes to get him to smile, fetching things for him before he can fetch them for himself...

And then there's her other, _teeny-tiny _problem.

Jemma's watching the graceful dance of his hands as he feeds a curved piece of metal through the buffer, long fingers carefully turning it this way and that, as precise and elegant as a prima ballerina, and she can feel her cheeks and the tips of her ears glowing as she struggles to pull her attention away from him.

Now that the veil that had been clouding her vision has been lifted, and she can see Fitz with complete clarity, he's starting to affect her in ways he never has before (or maybe he had, and she just hadn't been consciously aware if it). She's aching for him, and it heats her all the way from the top of her head to the tips of her toes. She's been admiring the way his face sets with determination when he's concentrating, the passion in his voice and in his expression when he's explaining how something works, especially when he's doing so to someone who isn't a scientist. The pit of her stomach bubbles with need. He's hugely distracting, and she feels like a teenager. His neck, the shape of his jaw, the curve of his cheekbones, the slope of his nose, the flutter of his eyelashes, his beautiful mouth, his impossibly blue eyes. And his hands. Oh, god, his hands. The things he could- She coughs as thoughts not appropriate for the workplace fly unbidden into her mind, coughs to cover up the slight whimper that falls from her lips, but then somehow she ends up choking on her own spit, and suddenly, Fitz is beside her, handing her his bottle of water and instructing her to sit down.

Jemma wants to escape, but she can't. This is the closest he's been to her since he came back to their lab, and they've both been somewhat skittish around each other, so now he's right next to her, she just gets sucked in, like he has his own gravitational pull. The heat of him, the scent of his skin, the smell of metal mixed with his cologne, is wrapping around her and making her giddy. So much for not getting in over her head.

She coughs a few more times, in-between sipping from the bottle, and slowly her breath comes back to her, the itch-scratch of her throat is receding, and even though it hurt her chest, she's quite glad of the coughing-fit, because Fitz will put down her beetroot-red face-of-embarrassment to that, and not because she was thinking about him in a completely unprofessional way.

God, she wants to bury her face in the crook of his neck and kiss his warm skin...

"_Simmons_!"

Jemma shakes her head as she's startled out of her pleasant reverie. "Huh?"

Fitz is hovering in front of her, one hand resting lightly on her shoulder, and even the press of his fingers through her shirt is almost too much for her to bear. Before she can stop herself, her eyes flicker to his arm, and it's then that Fitz realises that he's touching her, and he pulls his hand away as if he's been burned. She gives herself an internal eye-roll. _Good one, Jemma_.

"Are you all right?"

She nods, a little over-enthusiastically, and he screws his face up slightly, as if he can tell that she was having one hell of a daydream. "Yes, sorry, thank you." She winces at how hoarse she sounds, and holds his bottle of water out to him, but he shakes his head.

"Keep it."

He leaves her be, after that, as if being near to her for that long had overwhelmed him. Clearly, she knows that feeling, although she's worried that the reason that he was overwhelmed by their proximity is not the same reason as hers, and it saddens her.

A few hours later, Jemma looks up from her microscope when a scraping sound from across the lab distracts her. "What are you looking for?" she asks, watching as Fitz rifles through draws, his lip pulled between his teeth in concentration as he searches.

She wishes it was between _her_ teeth... _Stop that! You're a smart, intelligent, grown woman_. And therein lies the problem. She's never been more aware of her femininity or his masculinity as she is now. It's just biochemistry, of course, that's making her feel this way. It's hard to ignore, but she doesn't particularly _want_ to ignore it. Is this how Fitz felt, loving her from afar and not being able to show her? Did she affect him the way he's affecting her? If she did, does she _still_ affect him like that? The distinct possibility that she might makes her feel tingly and hot. Does he have the same reactions to being around her, the same urges, as she does being around him? With great strength, Jemma manages to pull herself out of that train of thought, because it is _not_ helping.

"Hmm?"

She walks across to him, her head still a little up in the clouds, careful not to stand right in his personal space, lest he go all still and awkward, like he didn't know what to do with himself, like earlier with the hand-on-her-shoulder incident. And for her sake, too, of course - she didn't particularly want another fake cough to start off a not-so-fake coughing fit. "What are you looking for?" She repeats, trying to catch his eyes with hers.

Fitz takes notice of her then, and straightens. "Sketchpad. I thought I'd put one in this top drawer. I don't want to use CAD at any stage for this one. I'm doing the whole thing by hand, from concept design to finished piece." He's excited, and it makes her feel gooey, like chocolate that's been left out in the sun. "Have you seen it?"

Jemma thinks for a moment, and then she remembers. "You took it into the common room the other night - you were sketching in front of the TV."

"Oh," he brings a hand to his head, "of course. It's still in my room. Thanks." He turns to leave to retrieve it, but Jemma stops him.

"I can get it, if you like. I was about to go that way, anyway. No point in both of us going." It wasn't like she hadn't been in his room before, although, not so much in his one here - it hadn't been long after he got out of hospital that she'd started to... Well. That.

He waves her off. "It's okay, I'll do it."

"Really, it's no trouble." She smiles brightly at him as her brain shouts at her to just let him get on with it.

"Honestly, it's fine. I'll be back in a minute."

"But, I'm going-"

"-_Simmons_."

Her eyes widen imperceptibly, and she quietens. "Sorry."

"Don't..." Fitz sighs, rubs a hand over his face, then turns and goes on his way without another word.

Jemma stares after him, crestfallen and annoyed with herself for pushing. After several moments, she takes a deep breath, and leaves to do what she'd been planning on doing when she'd tried to convince Fitz to let her help him.

When she returns, he's sitting at one of the lab tables, bent over his pad, his hand moving across the paper. He doesn't glance up at her as she approaches, and he's clearly engrossed in what he's doing, because he jumps when a cup of tea lands to the side of him, carefully set away from his immediate workspace, crying out at her as the movement catches in his peripheral vision.

"Jemma, stop!"

Stunned, she steps back, her own mug nearly falling from her hand.

He stands and faces her, exasperated, and she can tell that he's about to say something that's clearly been bothering him for a while. "I don't want you to let me drink tea in the lab! That's not you! You hate me having food and drink in here, because you're right, I'm not supposed to, and I still want you to berate me for it every time I ignore you and do it anyway, not bring me tea and pretend you don't mind just because you think it's helping us - it's not." Fitz takes a deep breath and pinches the bridge of his nose. "I'm sorry. Just... Please, stop fussing over me. You don't have to be constantly trying to please me, that's not why I'm here."

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean-"

"-And stop apologising! Look... I _know_ you didn't. I just, I need some space. Please." His eyes are pleading, and then a second later he sits back down, picks up his pencil, and focuses back on his work.

Jemma hangs her head and walks quickly over to the other side of the lab. She's not really sure what she's doing, she just knows that she needs to calm her nerves before her vision gets any more blurred, so she starts washing test tubes, beakers, and anything else she feels needs a good scrub, no matter if they're already clean, and then she places them all into the autoclave for fifteen minutes and stares at the chamber until the sterilisation cycle is complete.

She feels like a complete idiot, and she hopes she hasn't ruined the little they've managed to get back, because she doesn't think her heart will be able to take it. He's right - she's been fussing, more than she'd care to admit, even after she swore she wouldn't. She just couldn't help herself. She's never been able to help herself when it comes to him, has always been over-protective and worrisome.

"Simmons?"

Jemma's breath hitches at the sound of his voice, and she spins round to see Fitz standing awkwardly behind her, his face lined with worry and the weight of the world on his shoulders.

"I'm finishing for the day. And I..." He sighs, sadly. "I'm not punishing you, I promise. I'm just... I can't..."

She stops him. She can't bear to hear him struggling to speak to her, and she knows he isn't punishing her - she knows, because she can see the guilt in his eyes, and she hates it, because it shouldn't be there. "It's okay." She takes the opportunity to study his face while he's right in front of her. He looks tired, and she tells him so.

He manages to huff a small laugh, but agrees that he is. "It's not an excuse, though."

She just smiles softly at him. "Go on, get out of here," she says, quietly.

He nods at her, collects his sketchpad, and once he's gone, she flops down into her chair and takes a moment to just breathe.

* * *

**A/N: Everyone remembers Beyoncé's 'Crazy in Love', right? **

**This chapter is dedicated to notapepper, because, like me, she's a huge fan of Fitz's hands, and, well, isn't everyone?**

**Thanks for reading!**


	4. Chapter 4

"Fitz, have you been here all night?"

Of course he has. Jemma's walked into the lab to find him sitting in front of his computer, head propped up in his hand and his eyes staring blankly at the screen.

"Fitz!"

The man in question inhales sharply and springs up, looking around wildly as he clutches onto the edge of his desk. "What? Huh?"

Jemma tries not to laugh at his disorientation. "What are you doing?"

Fitz rubs his hands over his face and blinks rapidly. "Oh, um..." He pushes a foot against the floor and scoots his chair over to the holotable. His fingers fly over the desktop, and the image of a device in the shape of a pyramid pops up and unfolds like a flower. It spins for a few seconds, different parts of it lighting up, before the words 'Simulation Failed' blink insistently. He sighs. "I just can't work it out."

She stares at him with her school teacher face, because she knows he hates it. "Go to bed. You'll never be able to solve it whilst you look like the living dead." She flushes. "I mean..."

"It's all right, you know. I know I nearly died, but I'm not going to be a princess about it." He gives her an easy, lop-sided smile, the one that's guaranteed to make her all aflutter, and she returns it instantly, the corners of her mouth tugging up as his eyes, tired as they are, sparkle at her.

A bubble of laughter rises in Jemma's throat. It's been a month, now, since he came back, and she's happier than she's been in ages. Things aren't perfect by any stretch of the imagination. Fitz is opening up more, smiling more, engaging in regular conversation, but he still catches himself at times, still steps back from her, still goes quiet without warning. It's like they're new friends, still discovering each other, still working out boundaries, and while she doesn't particularly relish that thought, she accepts it, because she's certain, now, that it won't be forever.

"Bed. _Now_. Come back later when you don't resemble someone who passed out in a hedge."

Fitz pops a playful eyebrow up at her. "Well, in that case, I won't offend you with my presence any longer," he teases. "I'll see you in a few hours."

"Eight," she calls, as he walks off.

He turns, walking backwards. "Then I might as well not bother coming back today. Four."

"Seven," she challenges.

"Five." He narrows his eyes at her.

Jemma puts her hands on her hips, and tilts her head at him. "Six, and I don't tell Coulson that the reason you were tinkering with Lola before her service was due or before he asked you to, wasn't because you'd suddenly had an ingenious idea for upgrading the rocket boosters, but because you were playing with lasers irresponsibly and ripped a hole through her belly."

Fitz's jaw drops in horror, his eyes comically wide - he looks like a disgruntled tarsier, and she almost, _almost_, laughs. "You would _never_."

She shrugs nonchalantly, confident that her poker face is intact, and lifts a hand to stare at her nails. "If you do as you're told, you won't have to find out."

He starts walking backwards again, a finger reaching out to point at her. "Evil." Then he turns and disappears through the lab doors.

Jemma smirks and moves to collect her Petri dishes. She hadn't meant it when she'd said he looked like he'd fallen asleep in a hedge - on the contrary, his ruffled, sleepy, stubbly-faced appearance had been quite adorable. No. Not adorable. Something else...

She clears her throat, slips on her lab coat, and gets on with her current task.

xxxx

It's a little after three when Fitz returns, freshly showered and dressed in clean clothes. He gives Jemma a small wave when he walks in, then frowns to himself and goes back to his previous work without a word.

Jemma decides not to say anything. Since his outburst at her behaviour, she's become much better at not smothering him, so she leaves him be. However, as pleased as she is that she's been able to outwardly adjust, inside, she's still in turmoil. Being in love, _knowingly_ in love, is still something she's having to get used to, especially since she can't express it. She fidgets a lot, which she never really used to do, and at night she dreams of him. Most of the time they're just talking, but they're happy and close and he touches her freely without hesitation, looking at her like she's the most precious thing in the whole world, something so rare and wonderful that he can't keep his eyes off of her, and she thinks her heart might burst. On rarer nights, dream-Fitz kisses her and folds her into his arms, and on one occasion it had felt so real that she'd woken breathless and flushed, before realising that she was actually alone in her bed and not on some exotic beach at sunset or in a corner of the lab, hidden away from view, and hot tears of frustration and longing had slipped down her face, dampening her pillow as she'd sniffed into it.

It's hard.

She's surviving, she's getting through it, day by day, but it's the most difficult thing she's ever faced.

Well, aside from that utterly helpless feeling she'd had when she didn't know if he'd ever recover from almost drowning, and he was miles away, unconscious in a hospital bed, while she'd been sat here, sad and lonely and _terrified_ that she'd never seen him again, putting on a brave face for the team and working hard, all the while collapsing on the inside, her foundations slowly crumbling and leaving dust at her feet.

Every day, now, more and more of her is being cemented back together.

xxxx

Later that day, when they need to work closely and carefully side by side, sharing the same space and reaching around one another, something unexpected happens.

They've been fairly focused up until now, and Jemma has so far successfully managed to ignore just how close Fitz is to her. Likewise, even though she can tell that he's a little anxious, he's soldiered on for the sake of science.

Jemma is just having a mini-celebration in her head at this new step they've managed to accomplish, when she realises that she needs an extra beaker. She turns from the lab table, at the same time as Fitz decides to do the same, and as they've both turned inwards instead of outwards, they're suddenly so close to each other that Jemma's vision swims a little out of focus as she stares at him, and she has to blink a few times to clear the mist in her eyes. She finds herself frozen in an unintentionally intimate tableau with him - they're stuck there like magnets, unable to repel away, and she doesn't know what to do. He's making no attempt to move away from her, but she can tell that he's struggling with a decision, despite his gaze being cast away from her and down at his shoes. She wills him to look back up with every fibre of her being, and somehow, to her surprise, it works, and he gives her a look that she never thought she'd see again. It's the same one he often used to give her before she knew what it meant, a look he only ever gave to her and her only, and god, she's missed it. It's so intense that she falls into his baby-blues and completely forgets how to breathe, which is ridiculous, considering she's been breathing her entire life. Is it one breath in, one breath out? Or is it one out, and then one in? Does it actually matter which way round it goes? Is it two in, one out? Is that even possible? _Oh, shut up._

Fitz's expression changes again, and Jemma suddenly remembers how to draw air into her lungs. Sort of. But then his eyes flicker to her mouth, and she can't get enough oxygen inside her. She's aware that she's breathing far too rapidly, but she doesn't care, and, actually, it's not like he sounds any better.

She mimics him, her eyes resting longingly on the fullness of his soft lips, before sliding back up. There's already but a hair's breadth between them, so when he leans in, his gaze back on her mouth, she's so caught up in the moment, her heart thumping, her stomach doing celebratory backflips, her whole body buzzing with nerves and desire, that she doesn't realise he's paused until it occurs to her that he should have kissed her by now, given how his head is tilted, how his lips are parted. She blinks, and then sees that his eyes aren't shut gently in anticipation of meeting her lips, but, instead, are screwed shut, and he looks like he's in pain. All at once she's trembling for an entirely different reason, and then he speaks, and he's so close that his mouth very lightly brushes hers as he does so, and she would have whimpered at that tiny bit of contact if he hadn't whispered a shaky "I'm sorry" against her. And then he's off and out the door before she even has a chance to register that he's moved.

Jemma inhales sharply, and with wide, unblinking eyes, presses her hands to her cheeks. A small, strangled sob works its way up her throat and out of her mouth. For a split second she's angry at him. And then she's not. How can she be, when what she'd caught in his face in the moment before he'd turned and fled, had been guilt and confusion and disappointment, disappointment in _himself_.

She takes a few, deep breaths to try and steady herself, to try and quell the rapid beating of her heart and the shock of what just happened. She needs to centre herself, to not think about how close she'd been to knowing what his kiss felt like, to reign in her emotions and halt her tears before they start to flow uncontrollably.

She brushes her fingers across her lips, and she can still feel the ghost of his mouth, the touch of his apology.

For a moment, Jemma wonders what would have happened if she'd taken charge, if she'd kissed _him_ before he could realise what he was doing. Would it have turned out differently? Who knows. But, to have the tease of his kiss, to feel the warmth of his breath wash over her... She'd had a taste, and she wanted more.

Jemma wipes a sleeve across her damp eyes and presses a hand against the tight knot in her stomach. There's one thing she does know, one thing that stands out amongst the swirling emotional mess like a beacon: he still wants her. He still loves her, she finally knows that's true, and she clings to it. He'd _wanted_ to kiss her.

She knows he's terrified of getting hurt again, and this in turn hurts _her_, and she wonders if he'll ever be able to completely trust her again, especially with his heart.

She decides to finish off their experiment alone, tries to pretend that nothing happened, which almost works, except for the trembling of her hands and the rush of sadness that courses through her like a tidal wave.

xxxx

As luck would have it, their bunks on the Bus had been mostly untouched whilst the plane had been under Garrett's command, and Jemma had been grateful to find that one of her most treasured possessions, her photo album, had been exactly where she'd left it, safely tucked away beneath her bed. She has all her photos stored on her laptop, but her favourite ones have been printed out and placed in this old, well-loved, highly cherished album. She loves having hard copies of photos the same way she loves books over Kindles and CDs over downloads.

It's a big album, having been built up over the years, and she scans through the pictures, smiling fondly at memories of family barbecues and parties and holidays, of early days at the Academy - there's a sneaky shot she took of Fitz while they were studying, because the light was just right against the concentration on his face. She flips through a few more pages, nostalgia tightening its grip on her. Shots of them in the lab, in the Boiler Room, trips to museums, that summer they travelled around Europe - she laughs at a particularly silly photo of Fitz in a sombrero from when they visited Spain, and again, when she flips further along and finds the photo of him with a monkey wrapped around his neck at London Zoo, with the biggest grin on his face. She tries hard to hold back tears as her eyes trace over the ones they're in together, laughing, hugging, smiling, pulling stupid faces. Their graduation ball. Holidays. Christmases. Birthdays.

That selfie they'd taken in Peru.

There hadn't been many more after that. There were a few, during moments of relaxation - there's one of the team locked in a fierce game of Pictionary, one of Fitz trying to escape her that time his face was covered in cream after he'd been pranked (even now, no one had confessed to that), and she'd managed to stop laughing enough to get up and chase after him with her phone. But being on the Bus, being part of missions, had kept them busier than they had ever been before, and then when everything had started to fall apart, there had been no time to indulge in fun and the documentation of it.

When she gets to the end, Jemma makes herself a promise. There will be more photos, more memories to cherish, and Fitz will be part of every single one.

She closes the album and slides it into the drawer of her bedside table. She'd told herself that she'd get an early night, but she's restless, so she decides to go for a walk around the base.

As she passes the gym, she quickly ducks to the side. Fitz is in there with Trip, and she slides past, not wanting to intrude or be seen. She only manages a few steps before she quite literally bumps into Skye.

"Woah, what are you doing, sneaking around?"

"I'm not-"

"Relax, JS, I was joking."

Jemma scrunches her face up. "_JS_?"

"Yeah... No, it doesn't work, does it? Sorry. Anyway, whatcha doin'?"

She doesn't get the chance to reply as Skye looks past her as noise floats out from the gym.

"Wait, is Fitz in there? Were you _spying_ on him?!"

"Shhhh! Keep your voice down!" Jemma hisses, grabbing her friend by the wrist and pulling her further down the hall with her. "I wasn't spying, I was walking past. This is all just one big coincidence."

"Oh, a _coincidence_... What a coincidence."

Jemma rolls her eyes.

"Come on, I'm only teasing. Something's wrong, though, I can tell," Skye says, all sympathetic in a way which means she wants Jemma to open up to her, and as much as she appreciates Skye's "You-can-tell-me-anything-and-I'll-try-my-best-to-help" policy, she really doesn't want to divulge the fact that Fitz almost kissed her and then legged it, leaving her feeling as if a rug had been pulled from under her. It's taken her long enough to calm down as it is - she doesn't want to drag it all back up with anyone unless it's Fitz himself, and at the moment, she has the awful feeling that all the progress they've made will be rewound and they'll have to start all over again. That's if he wants to. Oh, god, what if this is it? What if Fitz is now lost to her completely? He tried, and he just couldn't do it, so that's it.

"Simmons, hey, are you okay?"

"I have to go."

"But-"

"I'll see you tomorrow!" She turns and practically bolts back to her room.

If she's going to panic over the possible complete breakdown of her relationship with the man who has been her best friend and her rock and her _everything_, then she needs to do it in private, preferably with her face shoved into her pillow.

Minutes later, she's doing just that.

xxxx

After a restless night, Jemma gets to the lab early the next morning, and is surprised to find Fitz already hard at work, although, actually, being first in was probably easier for him than walking in with her already there.

Jemma stares at his back and swallows heavily to try and push her stomach back down to where it should be. _Just do it quickly, like ripping off a plaster_, she tells herself. She smiles. "Morning, Fitz." It's light and cheery, and she's proud of herself for it.

His shoulders jolt as she startles him, and he spins round, looking somewhat like a deer caught in the headlights. However, upon seeing her smile, his face relaxes a little, enough so that he's able to offer her a tentative one back. "Morning."

The tension starts to drain slowly from Jemma's body, not completely, but at least now she doesn't feel so edgy. That was much easier than she'd anticipated it would be. She'd had visions of him being skittish all day and avoiding her eyes and... Well, just her in general. But he's not, so. Good start. It's probably helped that she came in the way she did and set the tone for him. After all the nightmarish thoughts that had plagued her last night, she's beyond thrilled that he's not pulling away from her again, or at least, not like she thought he would. She'd half expected to not see him today, had been truly worried that he'd disappear back to his old lab.

After that, they work in silence for a while. The mood isn't entirely uncomfortable, but it's not without any awkwardness, either. Jemma watches Fitz out the corner of her eye from time to time, mostly to make sure he's still there and hasn't slipped out, unable to be around her any longer. At the moment, he's wearing a pair of magnifying goggles and holding a pair of tweezers, concentrating hard on the small device in front of him, reaching in to pluck something out. Focused like this, she can't help but be dragged in by the determined set of his jaw, and when he glances up, as if sensing her, she jerks her head away so hard that it feels like she's given herself whiplash. Her wish to remain casual, as if she hadn't been staring longingly at him, is certainly ruined by her needing to reach up and massage the yanked muscle in her neck.

If he notices, which he probably did, he doesn't say anything.

"Simmons?"

She freezes. He's right behind her, his voice a couple of octaves lower than normal, and it sends shivers down her spine.

"Yes?" she replies, lowering her hand and turning slowly so as not to aggravate her neck any further. His face is neutral, but his eyes are burning, a mixture of nervousness and something undefinable which has her desperately trying to remember how to speak.

"Here." He hands her the dispersal mechanism she'd asked him to make for her new adrenal-boost serum. It's small, lightweight, and easy to use, something agents can easily hide on themselves and use discreetly and quickly. It's exactly everything she'd wanted it to be. Not that it would be anything less.

Jemma reaches for it, and his hand lingers a moment before he lets go. Her breath rushes out of her. "Oh, great, thank you. Let's test it, shall we?" _Oh dear, that was exceedingly squeaky_. She clears her throat.

"Yeah," he nods, sounding slightly strained, and that makes her feel a little better about her Minnie Mouse impression. "You add the serum, and I'll get our subjects ready. Er... Like this..." he adds, his hands sliding over hers as he pops the clip open - and it takes everything she has to keep herself completely still and not make a sound.

"Right. Good." As Fitz moves away, she exhales shakily, her eyes on him as he shrugs on his lab coat, and then she pulls herself together, sets the mechanism down, and fetches her serum.

They have work to do.

* * *

**A/N: Poor FitzSimmons - will they ever get to where they both really want to be?**

**It's probably self-explanatory, but what we call a 'plaster' others will call a 'band aid', just in case that confused anyone! **


	5. Chapter 5

"JEMMA!"

She'd been hurt today. They'd been on a mission, and the man they were tracking had suddenly burst through the doors of an old barn, splinters of wood flying everywhere as the car he was in shot through it, and Jemma had been standing in its path, although luckily not directly enough that she'd been hit her full-force. Instead, it had clipped the top of her leg, just on her hip, knocking her off her feet and sending her into a tailspin as she fell, and Fitz had yelled her name as she'd hit the ground hard, running over and landing beside her, his eyes searching hers, wide and panicked.

"I'm all right, he just caught my leg. Help me up?"

Fitz had seemingly not heard her, and he'd taken her face in his hands, his eyes all over her. "Are you sure? Don't move..."

"Fitz, I'm fine, I promise..."

Then he'd pulled her into his arms and hugged her tight. "Jesus, I thought... God, _Jemma_..."

She'd wrapped hers around him in return, an overwhelming urge to soothe him overtaking her, even though she'd been the one hurt. "Fitz-"

"-No," he'd replied, obviously thinking she was about to persuade him to haul her up, "you should stay where you are until you've been checked over." Then he'd shouted for Trip, even though neither of them knew exactly where he was. "Did you hit your head?"

"No, no, I'm okay, honestly."

Despite his insistence that she stay put, she'd finally managed to get him to help her to her feet.

"See?" Jemma reassured, as she'd stood straight. "All fine. Just a bit bruised, probably."

He'd let to of her warily, and once he had, he'd flexed his fingers, as if he'd been itching to touch her again but couldn't now that he knew she was out of danger.

Well, until she'd tried to walk, anyway,and then she'd cried out in pain and stumbled forward, and he'd had to catch her. That had been a little awkward, but he hadn't let it get in the way of doing everything he could for her.

They're back at the base, now. She hasn't broken anything, thankfully, but she's badly bruised, and now she's limping about, ignoring instructions to sit down and rest.

"What are you doing? You know better than that," Fitz admonishes. "Sit down, take your painkillers, and rest. That's an order," he adds, and the commanding tone of his voice makes her feel all wibbly, so she does as she's told. "Tea?"

Oh, it's been so long since he's made her tea. She smiles brightly. "Yes, please."

He shoves his hands in his pockets, looking as out-of-sorts as he had when he'd stepped back and let Trip take over her care, and leaves the common room with a small smile and a nod.

God, she's bored. She wants to sneak off to the lab and work on their findings, but Coulson has taken her off duty, not just for the rest of the day, but for the next few, at least. It's ridiculous, really - she's perfectly capable of sitting and working, for goodness sake. She shifts uncomfortably. Okay, so maybe she couldn't stay in one position for long, but still - she could do _something_.

When Fitz returns, he's only holding one mug. "Where's yours?" She asks, as he hands it to her.

His face is an apology. "I have to get back to work."

"Oh." Of course he does, there are still things that need to be done after today, and he can manage the bulk of it on his own.

She watches him leave, her face forlorn, then leans back into the sofa cushions with a wince. She knows she shouldn't complain too much - for a while, Fitz hadn't been able to do anything at all, and even though she'd understood his frustrations, now she's having just a little taste of what it actually feels like, and it really hits home just what it was like for him.

Jemma picks up the remote and switches the TV on, surfing though the channels, looking for something to catch her eye. They light up when she lands on a series she hasn't had the chance to watch in ages. "Aww, Bang Goes the Theory!"

xxxx

Several days later, Jemma's studying herself in the mirror, pulling a face at the huge purple and black bruise that's wrapped around her left hip and the top of her thigh. The one on her arm hadn't been much better. She pokes at it gingerly, even though she knows better, and hisses as pain shoots through her hipbone - well, what did she expect? While she's not a medical doctor per se, it's true what they say - doctors really do make the worst patients.

Jemma picks up a tube of cream and squeezes some out into her hand, rubbing it gently into her skin. "Ow, ow, ow..."

_"Jemma?"_

Her eyes swoop over to the door. "Just a minute!" Fitz has insisted on walking her to the lab every morning, and even though she'd outwardly grumbled about it, she was secretly pleased and appreciative of the support his arm offered as she hobbled along.

She finishes up her task and wipes off her hands before carefully pulling on a loose pair of jogging bottoms. She feels sloppy going to work dressed like this, but everything else presses painfully against her injury, so she has no choice. She laces up her Converse, then makes her way over to the door.

"Morning," she smiles, as she pulls it open. Fitz is standing there with bright eyes and an extended arm.

"Shall we?"

Jemma rolls her eyes playfully at him, but grabs hold and moves down the hall with him slowly.

"How's it feeling today?"

"The same. I feel like a little old woman."

Fitz bites his lip in thought, and she really wishes he wouldn't, not while she's like this and can't do a damn thing about it, not even if she worked up the courage to do so.

"Well, you've got two out of three."

Jemma stares at him, scandalised. "Ooh, you're rotten!" she huffs, and whacks his bicep. Fitz laughs, his body shaking not unpleasantly against hers.

"You know I'm only teasing, you daft mare."

Of course she does, and she welcomes it, because it means they're slipping back into their old ways again, and it's comforting, like hot chocolate on a chilly day.

Sadly, it doesn't last long, because they're called to a briefing not long after getting to the lab, and once they're on the Bus and in the air, there's too much planning and research to do, and then she's left behind when they disappear onto the streets of Seattle, waiting for Fitz to call through with something for her to do, but he doesn't, so she's left worrying about every little thing that could go wrong while she waits and potters about.

When her phone rings, it's only her limited movement that stops her from lunging for it.

"Fitz?!"

_"Hey... What's wrong? Why do you sound panicked?"_

Jemma takes a deep breath and evens out her voice. "I'm not, I was just... So, how's it going? Got anything exciting for me to do?"

_"'Fraid not. I was just checking in. Wanted to make sure you hadn't toppled over and got stuck on your back, you know, like a bug."_

She doesn't need to see him to know that he's grinning. "You're a sod."

Fitz chuckles._ "You wouldn't have me any other way..."_

And just like that, they're stuck in another awkward pause.

God, she would.

Jemma a slaps a hand over her mouth even though she didn't say anything out loud. What is _wrong_ with her? She's a nice girl, a good girl, and good girls don't...

Except, they do.

Ever since her awakening with Fitz, she hasn't been able to stop herself. She's never had feelings this strong before, for anyone, and now she finds that she's undressing him with her eyes at the most inappropriate times, and she's sure he's been doing the same to her - she's caught him staring more than once, with something primal in his gaze that she's never witnessed in him before, a hunger that shoots white heat through her, and then when he notices she's staring back, he looks away with a blush and she has to settle herself down.

Honestly, this is all Fitz's fault. Leopold Fitz, with his face and his hands and his voice and his enormous brain. Really, how _dare_ he?

The one thing she can pride herself on, though, is that it hasn't affected her dedication to science. Some people might find themselves too lovelorn to get their job done. _Most_ _people_, she bets. But her work is still top notch. Because she's a genius.

_"... So, we're nearly done, here. Turns out it was a bit of a dead end. Coulson's not happy."_

Jemma clears her throat, refocusing her attention on him. "I suspect not."

_"No. Well, I, er, I'd better go. I'll see you later."_

"Yes, later. Bye, Fitz."

Dead air indicates that he's hung up, and Jemma sighs and slips her phone into her pocket. She stares around the empty lab, fingers drumming against her lips. Her current project is back at the base. _What to do... _Her eyes land on the ICER that's sitting on Fitz's desk, waiting to be serviced, after a quick test before the mission failed to deploy the bullets. Well, you can never have too much dendrotoxin.

xxxx

Fitz yawns as they make their way from the hangar back into the base, and Jemma leans against him a little as he helps her limp along. It's been a long day of let downs and running in circles, and the team are weary and fed up. They spread out once inside - Coulson goes to his office, May and Triplett slip off to the gym, Skye, Jemma and Fitz head to the kitchen, and once Skye has grabbed a snack, she disappears off to her room, leaving the two scientists alone.

Fitz attempts to make something to eat, but Jemma shoos him away with flapping hands. He starts to argue that she should be sitting down, she argues back that he's been on his feet running around all day, and of course, she wins (not without a bit of trademark grumbling from Fitz), and she sets about preparing them a small meal.

"... So I told him that it's really just a matter of..." Jemma tapers off, mid-sentence, picking up on a sudden atmospheric change, as if a switch has just been flicked, the air suddenly palpable. She lets go of the saucepan of pasta she had been about to drain, and places her hands down on the edge of the counter.

Her heart thuds a heavy beat in her chest. He's right behind her, so close that she can feel the heat pulsing off of him in waves. He steps forward just a fraction, until she can feel his breath skim her ear, feel the weight of him, even though he's not touching her. She swallows, the air becoming even heavier with tension that's both electrified and cloying, and she jumps the tiniest bit when he reaches out and runs his fingers down her arm. Her skin prickles with goosebumps, and she feels not quite all there, like she's caught in that space between dreams and reality, but it's a pleasant disorientation, one that makes her feel not only syrupy and languorous, but also hyper-sensitive. It's strange, but exceedingly delicious at the same time.

Jemma turns slowly, almost trapped between Fitz and the counter - she could slip away from him if she wanted to, slide out of the small gap between them and save her heart from a possible repeat of last time, but, just like the last time, she can't pull herself from him. And, _unlike_ last time, his gaze on her is unwavering, boring into hers with such intensity that all the air is sucked from her lungs - his eyes are fixed, and a thrill races through her as she realises that this time, he's not going anywhere.

She darts out her tongue to moisten her lips, and there's a tiny catch of breath in his throat as he watches, mesmerised, and it makes her stomach flutter, that she's able to affect him like that.

Fitz reaches out to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, his fingers leaving a path of fire and ice against her skin as they sweep over her. He settles his hand against her cheek, his fingers buried in silky waves of cinnamon, and he leans in to press his forehead against hers.

"Jemma..."

He breathes out her name like a prayer, and it tickles her skin, makes her want to hear it again and again. She wants to feel it in her mouth, and have his lips stamp it against her throat; she wants to hear it low and strained as he comes undone. She wants it whispered in her ear and spilling shivers across her body like the violent burst of a firework.

Fitz turns his head, his nose brushing across her cheekbone, and she can hear his breath trembling as she plants her hands against his chest, solid and stable but for his racing heart. His other hand curls around her bicep, and he tilts his face to let his lips bloom against her temple, warm and sweet, and when he moves his mouth to her ear, she fists her hands into his shirt, her eyes heavy and unfocused as he whispers huskily and sends yet another pleasant shudder coursing through her.

"_Jemma..._" His lips trace the shell of her ear, and she almost gasps. "I lo-"

"-Hey, are you guys still..."

Jemma's eyes snap wide open. She can't believe it. Her brain starts screaming _"Are you kidding me?!"_, and a whine of exasperation leaves her mouth before she can control it, as Skye walks in with perfect timing and then freezes when she sees the intimate position that they're in. But it's too late, Fitz has already jumped back, startled by their friend's sudden entrance. The moment's ruined. She wants to cry in frustration - they had been _so_ close...

Skye looks suitably abashed, her hands uncharacteristically twisting together in discomfort. "Shit, I'm sorry, I... Coulson wants to see us all in his office."

Jemma can hear the regret in her voice, and she glances up at Fitz, who's staring back at her, completely crestfallen. Then he turns away, and she follows him out, disappointment radiating from her and her eyes unable to meet Skye's as she passes her. She vaguely wonders how long everyone has been waiting - the comms system in the kitchen needs repairing, something Fitz had been about to do that morning before they were called away - but she can't bring herself to care. She stares at the back of Fitz's head as they walk up the corridor, and, as if he can feel her the way she'd felt him, earlier, he pauses and sticks his elbow out so she can clutch onto it. She does so, but now she wants to cry even more. They haven't long returned from Seattle, and they were debriefed on the Bus - she wonders what Coulson could have found in the hour or so since they've been back, unless he wants to see them for another reason entirely.

When they enter the office, May stands aside to let Jemma sit, and she smiles gratefully at the older agent as she carefully lowers herself down into one of the leather desk chairs.

Coulson frowns at her. "Simmons, you don't look too good - have you been taking your pills?" He sounds concerned, and she's not about to share with the team the fact that she's sexually frustrated and wants to scream at him for having Skye interrupt her almost-kiss with Fitz, so she nods.

"Yes." It's not quite a lie, which is probably why she doesn't find it too hard to get her mouth around the word without looking like she's been caught with her hand in the cookie jar. She has been taking them, just not as often as she should - they're strong painkillers and they space her out, so she's mostly been using them to help dull the pain at night so she can sleep. She can't focus on her work if she's unbalanced by drugs.

Trip snorts a laugh. "Fitz looks the same - you didn't let him cook, did you, Simmons?"

Both Jemma and Fitz force a chuckle at the same time.

"I'll have you know that I'm a great cook," Fitz shoots back.

May smirks. "Sticking a bag of popping corn in the microwave does not count as cooking."

Whilst poor Fitz tries to defend himself against something that never even happened, Jemma catches the apology in Skye's eyes and offers her a small, reassuring smile. It wasn't her fault - the kitchen is a public area, after all, and it really wasn't the best place to fall into the arms of another. Still, to get so close and then have it ripped away - _again_ \- was like a smack in the face.

Coulson claps his hands together. "Guys! Can we?"

xxxx

Jemma's pacing the lab, unsure of what to do with herself, not unlike earlier on the Bus, except now it's late and she should be going to bed, but her mind is buzzing loudly with possibilities, of what might have been if she and Fitz hadn't been interrupted. She shouldn't even be moving about this much, but the adrenalin rushing about her won't allow her to keep still. Fitz went straight to the kitchen to fix the comms after the team's talk with Coulson, about coming at things from a different angle and setting up a new plan of action, and she's ended up here, strung out and... Hungry. Their ruined dinner is still on the kitchen counter, congealing.

She shakes her head and forces herself to focus. She takes out her microscope, slides, and Petri dishes, and gets on with what she'd wanted to spend the day doing in the first place.

"Ah, _there_ you are..." she's soon muttering to herself, with a satisfied smile. She steps back from the microscope and picks up her pad and pen to jot down a few notes. Halfway through doing so, her eyes are drawn to the doorway by a flash of movement, and when she looks up, her mouth falls open.

* * *

**A/N: For those who don't know "Bang Goes the Theory" is a BBC science show, which is also playing on BBC America. It's really good, so if you catch it, give it a look.**

**Jogging bottoms = sweat pants.**

**Ack, this was another frustrating chapter, I know. But I'm not in the least bit sorry :p**

**To those who left reviews that I couldn't reply to due to them not being logged in, thank you! Always very much appreciated :)**


	6. Chapter 6

Jemma is beginning to wonder if near-constant breathlessness is a prerequisite for love. She would also wonder if there was some way of scientifically testing that hypothesis, if her brain hadn't chosen that moment to short circuit, making coherent thought almost impossible. This is because Fitz, with his shirt sleeves rolled up and his collar open, mussed from the exertion of work, has swept into the room and is striding towards her with a look of raw determination, one that instantly weakens her knees and sets her pulse racing, and in one, swift motion, he pulls her notebook from her grasp, throws it onto the lab table, grips her waist with one hand, slides his other into her hair, pulls her against him, and crushes his mouth to hers.

Jemma drops the pen she's still holding and grabs at him, moving reflexively rather than consciously, her fingers twisting into his shirt in a vain attempt to steady herself, and then reality hits her so hard that she gasps, and Fitz immediately pulls away, eyes wide, an apology already forming on his lips, and she leaps to reassure him.

"Don't stop..." She needs him like she needs air, like she needs blood in her veins. He does as he's told, tilting his head and capturing her lips hungrily, like he'd never stopped in the first place. Jemma wraps her arms around his neck to try and pull him closer, even though she's already flush against him - she wants more of the heat that's burning his skin, wants to mould herself perfectly to his form and never let go.

Noticing she still has her gloves on, she yanks them off and tosses them to one side; it's a good job she wasn't working with anything infectious. Her fingers tangle in the hair at the nape of his neck and slowly move up into his curls, eliciting a soft moan from Fitz which ignites a spark in the pit of her stomach, one that spreads rapidly as he slips an eager tongue past her lips, sliding it hotly against hers, and she crumbles like wet cake, clutching him even tighter to steady herself. Fitz presses his hands firmly against her back in response, and it occurs to Jemma, albeit briefly, how positively indecent they must look. Not that she cares, not when Fitz's lips are caressing hers like silk against bare skin, not when he's mapping her mouth with the same detailed attention that he pays to his work, leaving her helpless and sighing his name like a plea.

It's indescribable, this kiss. It's so much more than she ever dreamed it would be, and mixed with the tremble that's running through her, with the heightening of her senses to their very limits, it tips her over the edge and overpowers her. She feels the bite of tears, and she breaks away, panting, unable to hide the telltale hitch in her throat.

Jemma's mortified. _This isn't some sappy rom-com, pull yourself together_.

But she knows why. She thought she'd lost him for good, that this would never happen, and she loves him so much, that she just splinters like weakened glass, overcome by it all.

Fitz stares at her in horror, his hands moving to her shoulders as he steps back a little to look at her fully, his breath coming just as fast as hers. "What... What is it? Did I do something wrong? Was it that bad? I know it's been a while, but-"

Jemma cuts off his babbling with a tearful laugh. "No! God, no, I'm just... I'm embarrassingly overwhelmed, that's all." With that, she buries her face in the crook of his neck and holds him tight, calming a little when he rubs soothing circles across her back.

"You frightened the life out me - I thought you were going to tell me this had all been a terrible mistake," he breathes, his relief obvious.

She shakes her head. "Never," she promises, her voice muffled by his skin, and she feels a shudder go through him as her lips skim his neck. Naturally, she wants to explore that reaction further, so she tilts her face and dusts soft kisses up towards his jaw, and he presses his fingers into the back of her shoulders as he exhales heavily. He tastes faintly of salt, of the burden of the day, and the tang of his cologne reaches her tongue, a strong, bitter taste, but she doesn't mind, because she's always loved the smell of it. It's the same one he's used for so long, that if he were to change it, she'd miss it, because wherever she is, if a stranger walks past with the same scent, she instantly thinks of Fitz. It's a little spicy, cinnamon mixed with faint floral and warm, woody notes. It's comforting and cosy and _him_.

"Jemma..." he whispers, fighting to keep himself in check as he brushes his lips against her hair.

Feeling daring, Jemma drags her mouth back to his and sucks his bottom lip between her teeth, just as she'd fantasied, biting down gently and trying not to let the surprise at her forwardness shine through. She lifts her eyes to gaze at him coquettishly (and she wonders if she can even pull that off, given her track record with flirting, but this is a very different set of circumstances, and adrenalin is urging her on), and Fitz stares down at her, almost hypnotised, his eyes dark and swirling with desire, and her heart almost stops.

Clearly, it's worked. She'll give herself a pat on the back for that, later.

She slowly releases his lip, her eyes still on his, and then he cracks and attacks her mouth again with the same desperation as before. She never wants to stop kissing him, not ever. She could quite happily just stay here in his arms, feeling exhilarated and more alive than she has in months.

Jemma blushes a little as she allows herself to indulge in the fact that _Leo Fitz_ is kissing her, that she's kissing _him_, that she's seeing this whole other side to him that she's had no evidence of before (not much, anyway - even when he had a girlfriend, he wasn't really into public displays of affection past hand-holding and maybe a hug), and it's thrilling. It's probably the same for him with her, to be fair, and the whole thing is hugely exciting.

Fitz moves to drop kisses along her jaw and up to her ear, and she fails to suppress a shiver as he leans in to finish whispering what he'd started to earlier that night, his voice low and impassioned.

"I love you."

A not entirely unexpected surge of emotion washes through her, and she throws her arms around his neck, stretching up a little to press her head to his.

"I never stopped, I promise."

"I know. I- Ow!" Jemma's body jolts away from Fitz's like it's been set on fire, as his hand accidentally brushes over her injured hip, and he curses and immediately retracts his limb, about to apologise when Jemma puts a finger to his lips.

"No harm done."

He shakes his head. "Doesn't matter, I should have been more careful," he chastises himself, leaning carefully back into her. They take a moment to calm down a little, just breathing each other in, their hands winding together. Jemma smiles when she thinks about how perfectly they fit.

With the urgency dissipated somewhat, Fitz starts to blush the more he looks at her, and that just makes her smile even wider, because she can feel her face burning, too, and then she ends up laughing, the sudden bark of noise sending her hands up to her mouth to smother it, but she can't stop.

Fitz is momentarily bewildered, unsure as to why she's suddenly giggling like she's had too much gas at the dentist, but he can't help but become infected by her dancing eyes and broad grin, and his face splits, too, his delight at her giddiness falling musically from his lips. While the kiss itself wasn't completely unexpected, the way it happened certainly was - neither of them could have known just what would flow out of them once given free rein. It's a lot to take in, the newness of it, this brilliant discovery.

Oh course, something embarrassing was always bound to barge its way in, and without warning, Jemma's stomach rumbles loudly. She rubs a hand across her abdomen in an attempt to pacify it, just as Fitz's does the same, seemingly in reply.

"Oh, dear, that's rather ruined the moment," she says, trying to suppress the breathy giggles still forcing their way out of her.

Fitz grins at her, all rosy-cheeked and sparkly-eyed. "Clearly, they're trying to tell us something. Come on, I'll help you tidy up, and then we can raid the kitchen."

xxxx

Fitz roots through the fridge and cupboards while Jemma sits at the table, watching him. He'd insisted that she rest, still feeling guilty that he'd accidentally grabbed hold of her hip, and now he's throwing a jumble of things onto the kitchen counter and heating up a pan on the stove.

Omelettes.

Fitz might not have a large repertoire when it comes to cooking, but he does make a mean omelette.

Jemma smiles as he bustles about. She's always admired the way he works, but to be able to view him so openly, to not have to hide the fact that she's doing so, is wonderfully refreshing and soothing. He applies the same amount of care to chopping tomatoes as he does to fixing circuitry or shaping metal, and she finds his movements to be quite captivating, so much so that she zones out and only really comes back to herself when a plate lands in front of her, and she jumps, startled.

"You need to sleep," Fitz says, mistaking her daydreaming for tiredness, and that's probably just as well, because while she now doesn't mind being caught looking, it's another thing to admit that you spaced out from staring too intensely at someone. And not just someone - _him_.

"I'm fine," Jemma says, sitting up from where she has her chin resting in her hand, and smiles softly at him. "Thank you, this looks delicious." She stares down at a perfectly formed, ham, cheese, and tomato omelette, the smell wafting up her nose and driving home just how ravenous she is. Fitz brings over their cutlery and grabs some water from the fridge, then sits down opposite her, and suddenly she feels ridiculous, and not quite sure what her face is doing. She's trying to eat normally, but they keep catching each other's eye and smiling, and she really _wants_ to eat, but she's feeling too nervy, and she wonders if he's feeling the same. Is she chewing too loudly? Is her mouth actually closed? Fitz raises an eyebrow at her, and she almost self-combusts.

"What are you doing?" Amused, he puts down his knife and fork, and Jemma drops her own onto her plate with a sigh.

"I don't know. This is..."

"Weird," Fitz finishes for her.

"Yes. But not-"

"-bad weird."

"No. Just... Different. Sorry."

Fitz reaches across the table to take her hand, and she watches as his fingers slide between hers, his touch causing a tingle to zip up her arm, and it pings off around the rest of her body like a pinball as her breath sticks in her throat. She glances up at him through long lashes.

"Don't be. It _is_. Now I'm worried about what I look like when I'm eating-"

"-Oh, god, me too!" Jemma replies, a little too enthusiastically, and he chuckles.

"Yeah, I mean, am I noisy? Do I look like a pig at a trough, or a goldfish mouthing at the surface of the water for flakes?"

She puffs a laugh. "Neither."

"I don't know what I'm worrying about, it's not like I need to impress you - you know what I look like when I eat. You know everything about me. And me, you. Well, I mean, not... I don't know... I mean... Um..." Fitz flushes beetroot, and Jemma's eyes widen as she picks up on what he's unintentionally stumbled into. He clears his throat and picks his fork back up, waving it at her. "It's going cold. You don't like it cold." He sits back and continues eating, and she mirrors him until her plate is cleared, and then reaches for her water bottle to give her hands something else to do, taking a long swig from it, forgetting that it's just come from the fridge, and she pulls a face as the cold hits a sensitive spot behind her front teeth. This seems to break the temporary awkwardness between them, as Fitz smiles and shakes his head, because it's not the first time.

"Remember that time you bit into an ice-cream without thinking and you nearly hit your head on the ceiling, and then flapped about like an angry bird?"

Jemma presses the back of her hand to her mouth to warm it, and narrows her eyes at him. "It's not funny."

He presses his lips tightly together in an effort to look less amused. "Sorry."

"Humph," she mumbles around her hand, but she watches him watching her, and it's not long before she softens.

"Better?"

"Yes."

Fitz grins at her, and she rolls her eyes good naturedly before standing to clear their plates. He jumps up to help her, but she waves him away.

"Jem-"

"I'm fine, Fitz - sit down." Jemma touches a hand to his chest and pushes gently, and he relinquishes, his legs folding and lowering him back down. Then, just for good measure, she bends down and drops a quick kiss on his lips, leaving him with a goofy smile on his face.

Jemma clears the table, scraps out the congealed pasta from her earlier attempts at dinner, and puts everything in the dishwasher. Then she fills the kettle and busies herself with fetching mugs and tea bags and milk and sugar, and then she stops to ponder her tea choice - black or herbal? Assam or peppermint? English Breakfast or camomile? Camomile, she decides, as it's late. No longer needed, she puts the sugar and milk away, and switches the tea bags. She's jittery again. Nervous excitement, that's all it is, but she can't stop thinking about how she wants to feel his hands on her again, to feel his mouth, soft and pliable as it moves against her own. Just as she's starting to lose herself to her thoughts, the air sparks, and the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. Fitz is right behind her - she can feel him completely, even before he touches her. His arms come to circle around her waist, and her hands still, hovering over the mugs. A soft, lingering kiss to the back of her neck has her eyes fluttering closed as her skin breaks out in goosebumps, and she leans back against him with a small sigh as she clasps her hands over his, his face buried in her shoulder. In the sudden silence, they become lost in the warmth of each other, just standing there and holding on, letting the peace and quiet wash over them.

After a minute or two, Jemma turns in his arms, and they're back in the same position they were in before Skye interrupted them, except this time Fitz brushes his mouth against hers without hesitation, and she brings her hands up to thread her fingers through his hair, her mouth turned up in a deliriously happy smile.

"It's really hard to kiss you when you're grinning like a clown," Fitz murmurs against her, his own lips mimicking hers.

Jemma wraps her fingers around his collar and bumps her nose to his. "We should talk."

"Oh. Wow. Well, that beats my previous record of shortest relationship ever. I didn't think it could get much worse than Holly MacAllister dumping me after a day because I refused to stay at her house for dinner. Her mother was terrifying - she gave me "the talk", and I was only five."

"Fitz! I'm serious!" She laughs.

He grins, then runs his hands up her arms and rests them on her shoulders. "Yeah, I know."

"Sit down. I'll bring the tea over." Jemma turns to the kettle, sees she hasn't turned it on, and tuts to herself, flipping the switch. Oh, well - the distraction had been pleasant.

A few minutes later, she rejoins Fitz at the table, and they both cradle their mugs in silence for a few moments, unsure of where to start. When they do, they both go at the same time, taking over each other until their words become a jumble.

Fitz smiles. "You go first."

"No, please, you go."

He nods, and stares at her for a second before beginning. "Okay." He takes Jemma's hands in his. "When you got hit by that car, it frightened the life out of me - for a split second, I thought that was it, that this time I was going to lose you for good, and it made me realise that I couldn't keep dithering about, because you never know when you might be seeing someone for the last time, and we've already had so many close-calls... I was stupid to waste those chances. It was suddenly all so simple. I know it still took me a few days, but all I could think about was how, when it comes to you, I don't know how to do anything but love you. And I'm... I'm pretty sure I know what the answer is, so don't be mad at me for asking, but you know this is forever? I can't do this and not have it be forever. You and me, everything we've done, everything we've been through... This is it. And if you can't see it being forever, I need to know now, because I can't start this and-"

Jemma presses a finger to his mouth and cuts him off. She smiles softly at him. "I know, and it _will_ be. I know you're still angry with me-"

"-No, no, I'm not."

"...Really?"

"_Really_." He cups her face and runs his thumb across her cheek. "And I know you're wondering if I trust you, and I do. Completely. It was horrible, an absolute nightmare, but I know you why you did it - I know you were scared, and that it overwhelmed you."

She inhales shakily. "I was terrified. But, I couldn't live on just memories of you. It wouldn't be enough. I don't know what I was thinking. I really do mean that - I _couldn't_. Everyone thinks I'm really strong, but I'm not strong enough for that. I'm so, so sorry that I hurt you. Every time I think about it..." She shakes her head and stares down at her lap, hoping to find something profound there, even though she knows he doesn't need it. "I might not have meant to, but I still did."

"You don't have to keep apologising."

She glances back up at him, still not quite able to grasp that he's truly not angry with her anymore. But it doesn't matter, because she knows he's telling the truth. "I feel like I do. I feel like it'll never be enough. But, we have a new start, now, countless blank pages to fill, together, sort of like our book two - one story is complete, and now it's time for the sequel..." she frowns, and turns her head, her eyes moving but seeing nothing as she thinks. "No, not a sequel - they're usually not very good, are they? _Continuation of a series_, like 'Harry Potter', or 'Lord of the Rings'_. _And I think - I _know_ \- we can be even better. And I know we'll never not risk our lives for each other, but even so, let's both just promise that we'll try our best to stay alive."

Fitz's answering smlie stretches all the way up to his eyes, and he lifts one of her hands to his mouth to gently kiss the inside of her wrist. "I like the sound of that."

xxxx

Jemma thinks, if it were practical, that she could kiss Fitz forever. He's just walked her to her room, and she's in his arms again, sinking against him, his mouth sliding hotly against hers. She sighs, not wanting to move from the comfort of his hold, but knowing that, despite it now being almost one in the morning, it's not a good idea to be standing in the hall and snogging like teenagers. Not that she knows what that's like. She'd always been too busy studying and making new discoveries, and she knows that Fitz didnt have a very good time during his teen years. Still, whilst making up for lost time is most definitely fun, she knows they shouldn't linger out here.

"Stay," she whispers into his mouth; she realises half a beat before his lips still that she should have said a little more than that. Her eyes widen, and she moves back. "I didn't mean... I just meant... To _sleep_," she finishes, lamely, her face and neck burning.

Fitz remains motionless for a second or two, then throws her a lopsided smile that makes her insides go all funny in the most perfectly delightful way. He takes hold of her chin between his thumb and forefinger, tilting her head to better stare into her eyes, and she blinks at up him, captivated by his own, the colour of a clear, twilight sky.

"Okay, let me go get changed. Five minutes." He kisses her one last time before turning away and disappearing off to his own room, and despite the late hour and how exhausted they are, there's a spring in his step that Jemma hasn't seen in a long while.

Puffing her cheeks, she blows out a relieved 'whoosh' of air, then opens her door and slips inside.

When he comes to her, just as she's finished brushing her teeth, dressed in checked pyjama bottoms and a white t-shirt, his smile shy and adoring, a lump forms in her throat to which she cannot push words past, so she just pulls the covers back on her bed, instead, and she's about to slide in when Fitz's expression moulds itself into an uneasy frown, and she follows his line of sight to see that he's staring at her hip. She looks down to find her tee partially ridden up, her bottoms slung low on her hips, and the top of her bruise peeking out, the contrast against her skin screaming out like a siren.

"Fitz..."

"Can I... Can I see?"

Jemma nods and straightens, beckoning him closer. She pulls the material down just enough that it exposes most of the mottled skin, and Fitz reaches out, stopping just shy of touching, his fingers skimming the air above it. He locks his jaw, anger filling his eyes, and Jemma covers herself back up and grabs his hands.

"Don't - I'm okay. Don't think about what could have been, or the fact that you want to strangle him," she doesn't want to be presumptuous, but she knows him too well to not know what he's thinking, "just remember that I'm fine, and that it will soon be gone. It'll be like it was never there."

Fitz nods, his eyes focused on the floor, then he steps closer and wraps his arms about her. The pulse in his neck beats strong against the side of her face, and she suddenly has to steady herself as the thought that not that long ago, he could have died, sneaks into her brain without warning, and she clutches him tighter. In return, Fitz cradles the back of her head, his fingers softly stoking her hair, a gesture which very quickly has her drifting, and when she starts to slump, Fitz untangles himself from her and helps her climb into bed before moving to the other side and sliding in himself.

Her eyes heavy, Jemma turns onto her side, and Fitz faces her, reaching out to brush her hair away from her face. She smiles sleepily at him, and then purses her lips, and he obliges her with a soft peck and a tired face that's bright with happiness.

"I love you, too - did I mention that?" Jemma mumbles, and then follows it with a small laugh. "Isn't it funny how we can jus' say that, now? 'S strange."

Fitz laughs, softly. "Go to sleep, you nutjob." He threads his fingers through hers and kisses her hand.

"'Kay." It's probably for the best. The first thing she'd done once inside her room was take her painkillers, forgetting that she'd only wanted to take one instead of the usual two, and now they're slurring her speech whilst rapidly pulling her into the land of nod. Her eyes flutter closed, and the last thing she feels before surrendering to sleep is Fitz's thumb brushing back and forth along the edge of her wrist, like a sweet, silent lullaby.

* * *

**A/N: I really hope that wasn't too overly sentimental! It's so difficult finding that balance, sometimes.**

**Sorry for the delay with this chapter. I had a lot going on over the bank holiday weekend, and then this week I decided to take a little more time to just relax and focus on other things, partly because this chapter was being a bit of a cow, so rather than stress about it, I put it to one side for a bit.**

**Thank you all for sticking with it. The next chapter will be the last, so it will be winging its way to you sometime soon.**


	7. Chapter 7

**Three months later...**

Jemma bolts upright with a start. Flinging back the covers, she almost falls out of bed in her haste to get up, ignoring Fitz as he yelps and then flails, disorientated at the rude awakening.

"Jemma, what-"

"-Get up! Coulson's going to kill us!" She cries, continuing to bang about in the dark. _Why isn't Fitz moving? And where has the light-switch gone?_ Her heart's racing. They're never late. They don't do late, and why can't she find her clothes?

Fitz sits up, momentarily fighting with the covers, and glances at the alarm clock. "Jemma?" Fitz's voice is a mixture of soft and sleepy, with a dash of trademark grumpiness, and she doesn't understand why he's being so infuriatingly slow.

"No, we're late!"

"Jemma!" Fitz is suddenly right in front of her, his hands on her shoulders, holding her in place, and she stares at him as if he's suddenly grown an extra head. "Hi. Calm down."

"What?" she replies, a little breathlessly. "No, we're late..." _What's he doing?_

"Jem, it's just after two a.m. Come back to bed, you're half asleep." He palms her cheek, his thumb stroking across her skin.

Jemma blinks at him, once, twice, three times, his face just barely visible in the darkness, and then she shakes her head a little, a frown knitting her face together. "Fitz?"

He raises his eyebrows at her. "Were you expecting someone else?" Then he yawns and pulls her closer, mumbling into her hair. "You're warm."

She smiles. "Sorry, I must have been dreaming, still."

"Y'dream about being late? What am I sayin' - course you do. Come on."

They crawl back into bed and cuddle together, but suddenly Jemma is wide awake. She chews on her lip for a moment before smiling wickedly and propping herself up on one elbow. "Fiiiitz," she sing-songs, walking her fingers across his shoulder and down along his clavicle. She presses a kiss to the corner of his mouth... And gets a soft snore in response.

Jemma rolls her eyes and sinks back down into the mattress.

So much for _that_ idea.

xxxx

"Hey, Fitz... Fitz! I think I've got it."

Fitz straightens from his bent-over position at the lab table, and sighs. He puts down his soldering iron, takes off his goggles, and rolls his head towards Skye, who is looking at him like a child at Christmas. "Skye, _please_..."

Jemma watches him from across the room, the hand she has wrapped around a pipette paused in mid-air. She knows what's coming.

"Oh, come on, I've really got you down, this time, I promise. Ready?"

Fitz waves a hand at her. As if he has any choice - she's been doing this for almost a week.

Skye clears her throat theatrically. "Okay. 'Aye, ye dinnae-' Oh, what? I'd barely started!" she protests, as Fitz again extends his hand, but this time to stop her.

"No," he says, firmly, turning away and going back to his work.

"But ye cannae say tha' weren't-"

"-Oh, my god, Skye, _stop_," Jemma interrupts, laughing as she moves towards her.

Skye huffs. "But it's not fair! Why is his American so good, yet I can't do a stupid Scottish accent?" she complains, pouting.

Fitz turns back to her, thoroughly insulted. "_Excuse me - stupid_? And I thought you said you were tryin' to do _me_? When have you ever heard me speak like that? Y'do realise that not all Scottish people have the same dialect? I'm not Rab C. Nesbitt."

Skye wrinkles her nose. "Who's Rab C. Nesbitt?"

"Ugh, forget it." Fitz rolls his eyes.

"All right, Sir Grumps-A-Lot." She turns her attention to Jemma. "What's up with you? You look beat. Oh, no, wait - I probably don't want to know, do I?"

Jemma goes back to her table. "I couldn't sleep, that's all."

"Is that what all the cool kids are callin' it?"

Fitz smirks. "She was actin' out her dreams."

"Yeah, okay, I'm gonna go, now."

"No!" Jemma tuts impatiently. "I thought we were late for work - I got up, started trying to get dressed, and then Fitz pulled me out of it. It happens, sometimes. Well, rarely, but it happens. Once I was convinced there was a bird in my room, and my mum came running in to find me waving my arms about, trying to 'catch' it."

Skye sniggers. "No way."

"Yep."

"Well, I guess that's more entertaining than sleep-walking."

"A pain in the arse, is what it is," Fitz chimes in, picking up a file.

"Oh, what are you complaining for - you fell straight back asleep. I was the one left tossing and turning. If you..." she trails off, not wanting to finish that sentence in front of Skye.

The hacker takes the hint and turns to leave. "I think I'm gonna go find Lance."

"Ooh, _Lance_..." Fitz trills, complete with faux-swoon for added effect.

"We're not... Shut up." Skye blushes, and leaves the room far quicker than she'd entered it.

Fitz chuckles to himself, and is about to open the file he'd retrieved when Jemma decides to sneak up behind him and wrap her arms around his middle.

He drops the file onto the table, attention refocused on her. "Ah, yes - what were you saying?"

Jemma turns her head and presses her cheek against his back, basking in the warmth of him for a moment. "If you hadn't fallen asleep - I was trying to get your attention..." She runs her fingers up and down his forearm, nonchalantly. "You could have helped wear me out..."

Fitz turns in her arms and looks down at her with a frown. "Well, _that_ I would have stayed awake for. Y'just didn't try hard enough, clearly..."

Jemma's mouth falls open, and she's about to chide him before she recognises the look on his face. "Oh, haha." She steps away from him, but he catches her hand.

"I'll make it up to you tonight."

"I'll hold you to that."

He grins, and winks at her. "I very much hope so." He swoops down and gives her quick kiss.

"Fitz!" Jemma realises, of course, that she's completely failed to sound the least bit admonishing.

"What? No one saw."

They both jump at the sound of someone clearing their throat, and swing towards the doors in perfect symmetry.

"Um, I did."

"Trip!"

"You're back!" Fitz starts towards him, slapping Trip on the arm as the bigger man catches him round the shoulders.

"Hey, man. How you both doin'?"

"Good. Great. Brilliant. Marvellous, actually," Jemma gushes.

"Any more adjectives you want to throw in there?" Fitz teases, his eyes twinkling humorously.

Jemma can feel herself turning pink. "Anyway," she says, composing herself, "has Coulson sent you in here for your fitting-"

"- or did you just really miss us?"

Trip shrugs. "A little from column A..."

Their eyes are trained on the specialist as they wait for him to finish his sentence, until the pause lasts a little too long. Fitz breaks first.

"Ah, funny."

A wide, pearly-toothed grin stretches across Trip's face as he chuckles deeply.

Jemma shakes her head and throws an eye-roll at him. "I'll get the scanner."

xxxx

"Why do I feel like a teenager who's snuck out of her house in the middle of the night?"

"You mean you're afraid Coulson will catch us and send us back inside with slapped wrists?"

"Well, we're not really supposed to be out here on our own, and especially not after dark. And, of course, after last time..."

Fitz cups her face with both hands and stares at her earnestly. "We're not alone, we're with each other, and we're still within the compound."

"_Just_."

"View's far better from here."

Jemma relinquishes, and stares up at the sky. "It really is." She takes a breath, something else on the tip of her tongue, but she quickly lets it slip away like water down a drain.

"What?"

She shakes her head. "Nothing."

Fitz's eyes roam her face, and she finds that she can't look away.

"Doesn't look like nothin'. What's wrong?" He takes one of her hands in both of his and presses a kiss to it, patiently waiting for her to tell him what's on her mind.

Eventually, Jemma sighs and gives in. "Do you think we'll ever be able to go home? Just for a while, I mean. Like a holiday. My mum and dad will be worried sick. And your mum, she'll be beside herself... I just wish we could call them more than once a month, and for more than only a few minutes at a time."

"I know." He rubs his thumb across her fingers. "We will, y'know, see them again. This won't be forever."

"We don't know that, Fitz."

"Hey. You're s'posed to be the positive one, remember?"

"Hmm. Just like we'll officially 'exist' again someday."

Fitz slides his arm around Jemma's shoulders and holds her close, his lips finding the top of her head. "What's brought this on?"

Jemma buries her face into his neck. "I don't know. Being out here, I suppose. Looking up at the sky and the stars... It's easier to think about other things, out here. And... Oh, Fitz, I'm sorry. You brought me out here to stargaze, and instead of it being romantic I've just sucked all the joy out of it." She lifts her head to gaze into his eyes, as dark as the night sky, but she sees nothing there apart from concern and love.

"It doesn't matter - you can't help how you feel."

"We have each other," she whispers. "Despite everything else, we have each other." She kisses him, then, soft and slow and sweet, bathing in the warmth and comfort of him, like being wrapped in her favourite jumper (which was actually _his_ jumper) whilst sipping hot chocolate, except it was much, much more than that.

Fitz brings her flush against him, then lays her back on the grass, his mouth hot and insistent as he deepens the kiss, and Jemma almost loses herself, until she remembers where they are.

"Fitz, the cameras... The last thing anyone wants to see is us rolling about in the grass."

"Rolling?" Fitz grabs her shoulders and then flips them over, and he grins devilishly. "Y' mean like that?"

She slaps his arm. "I _mean_ it."

He laughs. "Okay, okay." He sits up, but before Jemma can move off of him, he captures her mouth again, and gives her such a bruising kiss that it leaves her breathless. "I guess we'd better hurry inside, then."

His voice rumbles low against her, and it's all Jemma can do not to just have her way with him there and then. She's pushes herself up onto unsteady legs, her body already buzzing with excited anticipation, and she takes his hand as they run inside, giggling and stopping for quick kisses in dark corners along the way.

As they pass the lab, Fitz pulls on Jemma's hand as he stops and gazes through the door. Then he turns to her with a mischievous smirk that almost has her coming undone.

"We can't," she breathes, trying hard to sound firm, but failing miserably.

Fitz backs her up against the door. "Sure about that?" He nibbles gently down her neck, and her eyes flutter closed as she angles her hips into him.

"Mmm... Wait!" She grabs the front of his shirt. "Actually, I... I think that would be quite exciting - but you know we can't."

"Yeah. Shame, though." He nuzzles her ear as he speaks, and then suddenly he's pulling her along the corridor again. They're just about to round a corner, when Fitz picks up her and spins her around, continuing forward as he does, and she lets out a squeal of delight, which soon turns into an "Oh!" of shock as they almost crash into Coulson and May.

Fitz quickly sets her down, and the both of them look at their seniors very much like children who've been caught sneaking biscuits before dinner.

"Er..." Fitz starts, all the eloquence he ever possessed flying out the window.

"We were just..."

Coulson stares at them with barely contained amusement. "What have I told you about running in the corridors?"

Jemma has to press her lips together to keep from laughing, and she knows Fitz is doing the same, as his hand tightens around hers. Nothing, he's said nothing, but they'll play along.

"Sorry, sir," Fitz says, his voice a little higher than normal, and he clears his throat.

May tries hard to hide a smile, but her eyes are shining with mirth.

Coulson nods, then steps aside so they can pass. "Goodnight."

"Goodnight, sir," Jemma replies, and she's trying so hard not to laugh that it's a wonder she can still breathe. She lowers her head a little as she moves forward, Fitz hot on her heels, and they don't touch each other again until they're in Fitz's room, with the door locked behind them.

"Ooh, that was awkward."

Fitz flops backwards onto his bed with a chuckle, then holds his hand out. Jemma walks towards him with a knowing smile, and entwines her fingers with his, her pulse rising as he looks up at her with hungry eyes. Fitz pulls her down, and she tumbles on top of him with a small yelp, which is quickly smothered by his lips on hers. His hands find their way underneath her blouse, the warmth of them smoothing up her back making her shiver. She doesn't know if she'll ever get used to this, the feel of his hands on her, his tongue in her mouth, the hitch of his breath, and the way he says her name likes it's the most important thing he'll ever say in his life.

Fitz tugs at her blouse, and the next thirty seconds are a flurry of activity as clothes are shed and tossed to one side. They end up in the middle of the bed, on top of the covers, and as Fitz grips her hips as she moves above him, her mind goes blissfully blank, her ears filled only with his moans and her own, breathy sighs.

xxxx

As they lie in each other's arms, basking in the glow of their exertions, Fitz's thumb stroking lazily across her forehead, nearly pulling her into sleep, a memory comes to Jemma, one that she'd told Skye about not a lifetime ago, and she smiles to herself, one that quickly turns into a full-blown Cheshire Cat grin.

"What?" Fitz catches the movement of her lips out the corner of his eye, and cranes his neck to study her face.

Jemma turns onto her front, her fingers reaching out to draw patterns across his chest, his arm resting warmly around her shoulders. "I was just thinking about when we first met, how much you hated me, and now look at us."

"_What_?"

"Who'd have thought it? It's sort of like the plot of 'When Harry met Sally', only I've never faked an orgasm in a restaurant - I mean, it's not very civilised, is it?"

"Hang on," Fitz props himself up on one elbow in order to better look at her. "You thought I _hated_ you?"

Jemma opens her mouth to speak, but all she succeeds in doing for a few seconds is opening and closing it like a fish. "I... Well, yes. Didn't you?" _Hadn't he_? "You never spoke to me, not until we were partnered up in chem lab - until then we were just rivals trying to outdo each other."

Fitz stares at her with a look of complete surprise. And confusion.

Jemma's confused, too.

"Jem... I didn't hate you. I..." he glances away from her, embarrassed. "I was tryin' to _impress_ you. You thought I hated you? I made you think that?" He looks so upset, that Jemma wraps her arms around his neck and rests her head against his before he can turn it away from her.

He hadn't hated her. She's not quite sure how to process that after being convinced of it for so many years. "You were trying to impress me?" she smiles, a gentle warmth enveloping her, helping to quell the sadness she felt in the pit of her stomach at getting it so very wrong, even though it hadn't been unreasonable for her to think that - she hadn't known much about him at the time, after all.

"Yes." His eyes are cast down, but she knows he'll look at her when he's ready.

"Why didn't you just talk to me?"

Fitz shrugs. "Dunno."

Jemma runs her hand up his arm and gives his shoulder a gentle squeeze. "Yes, you do. Come on, you can't be embarrassed to tell me, not after what we just did," she encourages, giving him a wink as he finally glances up at her.

He sighs. "You know I'm better at showing than telling."

Indeed, she very much does, and clearly it had been that way since the very beginning. "Touché."

Fitz picks up her free hand and starts to idly play with her fingers. "Okay." He takes a deep breath. "... I was intimidated by you."

Jemma tips her head away from his, perplexed for a moment, before admitting to herself that yes, she probably had been quite intimidating, especially to someone like Fitz, who wasn't the best when it came to being social, especially not back then, when they'd both been so young.

"You were super-smart and drop-dead gorgeous, and I didn't know what to say to you without sounding like a total creep. So instead, I spent months trying to think of something so _outstandingly_ brilliant, that you'd sit up and notice me, and then when we were paired up, I was so excited, and also a little nauseous. Even then, it still took me a few days to think of something clever enough to say to you. But I did."

Jemma smiles softly, her eyes a little damp. "You did," she all but whispers. Then the first part of what he'd said echoes back to her. "You thought I was gorgeous?"

"Shut up," he smiles back at her, trying to repress it, but failing. "You know you are."

She ignores that, although yes, she's aware that she's not, as she'd told Skye, 'An ugly duckling'. "And you spent all that time trying to get me to notice you?"

"Yeah, well, I thought we'd get on, so-"

Jemma crushes her mouth to his, swallowing the rest of his words, and pushes him back down against the bed. "I'm sorry," she mumbles against him, one hand at his waist and the other in his hair.

"What for?" he pants, pulling back a little. "You weren't to know that what you interpreted as hostile was just me bein' shy and awkward."

"But if I'd spoken to you first-"

"-It doesn't matter, especially as I obviously didn't give off the impression of being very approachable."

She plays idly with his hair, wrapping a curl around a finger and then watching it spring back as she releases it. "Did you have a crush on me?" She's curious, that's all, especially because of how uncomfortable he'd just been. She holds his gaze, and the love in his eyes makes her heart feel as though it's skipping beats all over the place.

"A little, at first. I was mostly just awed by you and wanted to be your friend - I thought we complimented each other. And then, in the end, I fell in love with you, anyway. Inevitable, really. And I'm not sayin' any more, because you always joke about how I have a big head, but yours won't be able to fit through the door if I carry on."

Jemma grins. "Who said I was joking about yours?"

"Oh, oh, really. Just for that..." Fitz grabs her hips and flips her over, and she squeaks in surprise. He hovers over her with a mischievous glint in his eye, then attacks her mouth with renewed vigour until they're both gasping for breath.

"I love you, you ridiculous man."

"Enough to make me a sandwich? I'm pretty hungry, now."

Jemma slaps his shoulder, and he laughs and rolls away from her.

"Okay, okay!" He grabs her hands. "I love you, too. C'mere."

Bloody cheek. But she adores him all the more for his playfulness, for this side of him that she'd missed out on for so many years. "I _did_ notice you," she says, as he slides a leg in-between hers. "If I hadn't, I wouldn't have thought that you didn't like me."

Fitz presses his nose to hers. "And I _still_ frequently try and think of ways to impress you."

"Yes, I realise that, now, but you don't need to - I was impressed a long time ago. You don't have to go all out to get my attention - it's not like I'm going to forget what you're capable of."

He graces her with a charming smile that quickly turns wolfish. "Well, just in case..." he breathes into her ear, his voice lowered by desire, and that slight growl, the deepening of his accent, causes her to arch up into him, and when his hand slips down across her hip, and long, inquisitive fingers dance across the top of her thigh, right towards where she needs them the most, she thinks that maybe, in instances such as these, she's not going to refuse his 'Just in case' way of thinking...

* * *

**A/N: So, that's it! Thank you so much to everyone who has read and reviewed.**

**I was initially going to post this chapter yesterday, but after finding out what we did, I decided to change the ending.**

**This final chapter is dedicated to notapepper, not just because she's awesome, but because she requested some 'hanky-panky', and who was I to refuse something like that? ;) I hope it met your requirements! **

**Rab C. Nesbitt is a fictional, comedic character - an alcoholic, work-shy Glaswegian. The show isn't on anymore, but I watched it growing up, and it was very funny.**

**As for Jemma's bizarre dream-state, that's actually based on me. It really does happen like that. Sometimes I wake up properly, other times I'm just guided back into bed, and I'm out again as soon as my head hits the pillow. It doesn't happen often, thankfully!**


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